Killer Thrillers Box Set: 3 Techno-Thriller, Action/Adventure Science Fiction Thrillers (101 page)

Julie laughed as she read the first line of the Livingston biography. “David Foster Livingston is a successful leader and proven…”

“…Manager in many corporate settings,
” Randy finished.
“Ugh. You’ve got to be kidding me. What a joke.”
 

“Okay, well, thanks for trying. Let me know if you come up with anything else.”
 

“Will do — take care.”
 

“Hey, one more thing,” Julie said into the phone.

“What’s that?”
 

Julie paused. “Uh, don’t worry about it, actually. Let me see if I can dig something up first.”
 

She hung up the phone and woke up her computer’s screen. She started a new search, and began browsing through the results.
 

Finally, one result jumped out at her.
 

Teenaged Hero Rescues Father and Brother
was the headline.
 

She clicked the listing and waited for the slow hotel WIFI connection to load the advertisement-riddled page. It was a newspaper article that had been scanned and transcribed for the news site’s archives, dated thirteen years ago.
 

“…The Bennett men were camping in a southern region of Glacier National Park when the youngest Bennett, nine-year-old Zachary, wandered to a clearing where he accidentally stumbled between a mother grizzly bear and her cub…”
 

“Johnson Bennett ran to his son’s aid, but the mother grizzly struck Johnson, knocking the man unconscious…”

“…Shooting the larger bear first with two rounds from the father’s rifle, and scaring away the cub. Harvey pursued the smaller animal and eventually shot it, bringing it down with one round…”
 

Julie covered her mouth as she read the account.
 

“…Zachary and Johnson Bennett were rushed to St. Andrews Memorial Hospital, where they were both treated for severe trauma, and the elder Bennett for a concussion. Zachary Bennett is expected to make a full recovery. Johnson Bennett is currently comatose in a stable condition, however, doctors are unsure of the possibility of recovery…”

The door to the hotel room opened, and Julie quickly slammed the laptop shut.
 

“Julie!”

It was Ben.

Startled, Julie nearly tripped over the chair as she stood and turned toward the door. Malcolm Fischer entered the room just behind Ben, breathing heavily.

“Julie, I got an email from Randy. Just now.”
 

Julie looked at him. “Randall Brown? My IT guy?”
 

“Yeah, he wanted to send it over directly, since he thought there might be an issue with your emails or something. But you should have gotten it too.”
 

She started to check her email, but stopped herself. “Okay, well what did he say?”
 

“It was a forward of my mother’s email draft. She must have tried to send it, but it never went out.”
 

Julie’s eyes widened.

“It has information in it, Julie, about the virus. The night… the night she died, she must have been writing it. It’s got everything she was working on, and everything she and her assistant discovered.”

“Go on.”
 

“For one, it’s not a virus.”
 

She turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing.

Malcolm continued the explanation for Ben. “Ben’s mother’s research seems to prove that the virus is actually a mutated bacteria —”

“No, that’s not possible. The contagious spread, the outbreak pattern, the —”

“It’s a mutated bacterial infection
inside
of a virus.”
 

Julie’s head snapped up. “Come again?”
 

“That’s right, Julie,” Malcolm explained. “While I still believe the virus is made up of some synthetic alteration of the powder substance my students and I found in Canada, Dr. Torres is postulating that the reason this strain has been so difficult to model is due to its uncharacteristic qualities. Map it as a virion, and
it fails many of the chemical application tests. Map it as a bacteria, and it doesn’t appear to be
living
— immediately disqualifying it from the ranks of bacteriophages.”

“Okay,” Julie said. “So she was able to determine that we’re dealing with a highly infectious viral-bacterial disease. I’ll admit that’s unbelievably fascinating, but did she find a
cure
?”
 

Malcolm and Ben shared a knowing glance.
 

“No,” Ben said.
 

“But she found that the infection would naturally die out, after running its course. It reaches a certain point, she said, and just
vanishes
. But not until after it kills its host.”
 

“We’re not dead yet,” Julie said. “And you’re not dead, either, Dr. Fischer.”

Malcolm stepped forward and nodded. “Julie,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “We need to get to a research lab. If there’s any way you can find out exactly why none of us in this room are dead, you
must
.”

She started pacing. “Okay, right. Yes, you’re right. Let’s, uh, let’s go back to —”

“Julie, we’re not going back to the CDC. Livingston and Stephens might be there, and besides, we can’t forget about the bomb back at the park.”
 

“But can’t you call someone there? Someone who might —”
 

“Julie.” Ben’s voice was firm, but he looked her right in the eyes until she understood. “
There’s no one else.
”

She hesitated, thinking through it. “You’re right. There’s no one there who can help anymore. The government agencies involved are going to wait until they know it’s not dangerous to their staff. It’s what I’m supposed to do — wait until someone presents some compelling research as to why it’s safe for us to go in, then send a bomb squad in hazmat suits to find anything unusual.”
 

“But that will take much too long,” Malcolm said.
 

“It will,” Ben answered. “But there’s a lab at the park — it’s not much, but it’ll have to do. I’m going back there, to figure this out.”
 

As if remembering the dire situation they were all in, Ben looked down at his hands and arms.
 

“Does it hurt?” Julie asked.
 

“No. It hasn’t really done much at all, and it’s not itching at the moment.”
 

“Neither is mine,” Julie said, examining her own arms.
 

“So,” Malcolm said, calling them to attention. “I guess it’s just us, then?”
 

“Dr. Fischer, you don’t need to come along,” Julie said. “If what we’re saying is true, we’re going into an infected quarantine, looking for a massive bomb hidden below the surface somewhere. It’s not exactly a risk-free mission.”
 

Malcolm lifted his chin slightly. “Julie, I understand that you are concerned. And you are right to assume that this is an extremely dangerous mission. But I will not sit idly by and do nothing to right the wrongs done to me, or my students.”
 

His monologue over, he tensed his jaw and waited for the others’ response.
 

Ben looked over and shrugged. “I feel you, Doc. I wouldn’t make you sit on the sidelines.”
 

Julie smiled.
 

“Let’s get to Yellowstone.”
 

They sat down at the table in the small hotel room, ready to plan their trip back to Yellowstone, when Julie’s phone rang again. She grabbed it before it rang a second time.
 

“Hold on a sec,” she said, holding up a finger. “It’s Randy again.” She held the phone up to her ear. “Randy — what’s up?”
 

As she listened, the muscles in her face tightened and her back became rigid. She swallowed a few times, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. She nodded, unaware that Randy couldn’t see her, and she hung up the phone.
 

Ben and Malcolm were perched in their chairs, watching the one-way conversation.
 

“Julie, what was that about?” Ben asked.
 

She blinked a few times, suddenly embarrassed that she might cry.
 

“Liv — Livingston,” she choked out. “He’s dead.”

41

“MONSIEUR VALÈRE, THE CONFERENCE IS now available,”
the voice said. It sounded metallic, hollow, and distant, and yet it was the most lifelike computerized voice system Francis Valère had ever heard.
 

“Merci beaucoup,”
Valère responded. He waited for the computer system to check the ethernet connection, test internet speed, and finally ping the waiting room of the online web conferencing service. Within seconds, the voice emanated from the walls of Valère’s office again.

“Connection speeds are exceptional, Monsieur.”
The voice had an eerily attractive component to it, Valère realized, as he waited for the two other participants’ faces to appear in front of him. She had also been upgraded to a human-like level of what they were calling “AI hyperbole,” which was, as far as Valère could tell, just a library of phrases that replaced the usual metric and clinically precise statements that plagued most artificial voice systems.
 

SARA — Simulated Artificial Response Array — was the Company’s latest alpha release they were testing in their offices. At this point, it was nothing more than a computerized artificial intelligence, more advanced than anything on the market, but far from deployment-ready.
 

The plan was, Valère had been told, to get SARA to beta and then release the code and sound sample library, alone more than ten terabytes of information, to a few universities for further development and testing. Eventually, they would either use the application for internal purposes or sell the final design schematics to the highest black market bidder. As SARA’s development was about as removed from Valère’s professional expertise as possible, he wasn’t entirely sure what she would finally become. But if the previous applications their affiliates had released were any measure, SARA would be nothing short of miraculous.
 

Valère was involved in a number of startup tech and pharmaceutical businesses. He was independently wealthy, thanks to the benefit of a long line of rich relatives who’d left a startlingly large inheritance, as well as his own knack for choosing investment opportunities. A few had bombed, but he had invested far and wide, amassing a fortune of interests in just about every sector related to computer intelligence and medical advancement.
 

“Francis, are you with us?” a man’s voice spoke from inside his computer screen.
 

Valère cleared his throat. “Yes,
oui
, I am here. I apologize for my tardiness — I have been following the latest developments in the United States.”
 

“As have I,” the second voice answered. The man’s face in front of Valère was enlarged on the gigantic screen. The sound emanated from the walls themselves. Audio-Enhanced Surfacing, if Valère remembered correctly. The walls of his Quebec office space were essentially made of thousands of speakers, each implanted with a computer chip that made them “intelligent” — allowing them to emulate a natural sound environment. He could play music that followed him throughout the room, providing a sonically perfect artificial surround-sound in an acoustically exceptional environment.
 

For now, the man’s voice, in crisp and clear stereo, was all Valère cared about. The man inside the window continued. “It appears as though our initial plan has been delayed. After your dismissal of Mr. Jefferson —”
 

“Nonsense,” Valère said. “Our placements were sound. Each of the departments is operating smoothly, according to their protocols, and taking no unnecessary risks or making any rash decisions.”

“Francis,” the first man, Emilio Vasquez, said, “while I admit our infiltrated agencies are doing exactly as we’ve hoped, you cannot deny the existence of a few rogue operatives. The CDC’s department head has been removed, but it still seems as though a few members of its lower ranks are curious.”

Valère thought about this a moment. “Do you honestly believe they have become a threat?”
 

“Hardly,” Emilio responded. “It is merely in our best interests to ensure these possible threats stay just that.”
 

“And how exactly do we ensure that?” Valère asked.

The other man paused for a moment. “Well, I believe it’s time for the contingency plan.”
 

“I —
we —
don’t
need
a contingency plan,” Valère responded. “This plan is sound — it always has been.”

“I’m not saying it hasn’t been, Valère. But there’s always room for improvement.”
 

“But these rogue operatives have been working
outside
of our target organizations. They are no more a threat to us than the local police.”
 

“But you’re wrong, Valère. They are
far
more of a threat to us, especially now. They are mobile, and we are still unsure of their capabilities. Borders mean nothing to them, nor do their organization’s standards. We’ve worked far too long on this project to lose the investment entirely.”

Emilio’s face was growing slightly red, though his voice betrayed no raise of emotions. Valère knew the man was moments away from growing indignant, but the man stopped himself just short.

Valère sighed. “These deaths are unnecessary,” he said. “They are inevitable, but must they come from our hands?”
 

“Valère,” Emilio said. “As you know, these deaths are
nothing
when measured against what we will accomplish.”
 

“I agree, but—”

“And their deaths will not be ‘by our hand,’ as you say. Far from it.”

Valère nodded.

“Let us see this through to the end, Valère. Let us complete our mission.”