The Paris Betrayal James Hannibal (free ereaders TXT) 📖

Whether waffles or soy, none of the subjects savored their meals. Without fail—and without suspicion—they tore into every bite.

Jupiter fixed his gaze on the microbiologist. “Your assessment, Dr. Kidan?”

“Healthy—” The doctor’s voice caught in his throat. He coughed, and after a hard look from Terrance, he started again. “The patients are healthy enough to represent a normal human reaction. C Prime’s tests, however, show that his health is about to change.”

“So you are ready to proceed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jupiter waited.

Terrance smacked the biologist on the arm. “So proceed.”

The doctor lifted a miniature tablet from his lab coat pocket and walked to the first false window. “Dr. Xue’s efforts achieved only a quarter of your stated objectives—bubonic to pneumonic crossover, full aerosolization, an increased period of asymptomatic virulence, and sudden symptom onset. She solved the sudden symptom onset issue only, inadvertently creating a bubonic assassination weapon, which your people so ably applied in Rome.”

“I am aware of the objectives. And I am aware of Xue’s failure.”

“Yes. Of course.” Dr. Kidan opened an app with patient stats next to a column of colored buttons. “I only highlight this to show you how far we’ve come since her . . . departure.” He let out a shaky breath. “Right. Here we go.” He pressed the top button.

A green circle appeared on the observation window into E Prime’s room, drawing attention to a ceiling vent. With no more than a whisper, nano-droplets blew in, digitally colored pink so the observers could watch the dispersal pattern. The subject never looked up from his meal, even as the pink cloud surrounded him, drawn in through his mouth and nostrils.

Dr. Kidan referenced his stats. “Male. Early forties. Potential liver issues but otherwise healthy. The bacteria’s Rome variant, known as PB1, could only be applied by injection. We just introduced nano-fine water vapor containing PB2, the new variant. As you can see, we’ve solved the aerosolization problem.”

In the apartment, the subject dabbed his lips and sat back in his chair, letting out a light burp of satisfaction. He showed no signs of distress.

Dr. Kidan gestured at his patient like a man gesturing at a new type of car. “Notice the high bacterial load taken in. Yet E Prime is entirely unaware of his infection, and will remain so for a minimum of ten days, likely more.”

Jupiter’s expression darkened. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Dr. Kidan answered with a nervous laugh. “No, sir. No, you won’t. Please, let’s leave this patient to his post-breakfast ablutions and have a look at C Prime.”

The three moved to the next LCD window and watched the man eating his Belgian waffles.

“I’m still waiting,” Jupiter said.

Terrance checked a running clock in the corner of the display. Dr. Kidan had promised a result within ten minutes of 8:15. The clock read 8:23. He could feel heat developing in the air around his boss.

Jupiter let out a sigh that might have been a growl.

“There!” Dr. Kidan’s fingers flashed over his tablet, and the LCD window zoomed in on the patient. C Prime scrunched up his face and scratched his left shoulder. A black boil seemed to appear before their eyes. Dr. Kidan pumped a fist. “Yes!”

When the other two looked at him, he straightened and coughed. “I mean . . . Good. We’ve achieved the expected result.”

Dr. Kidan zoomed the display out again and they watched C Prime stumble to the door. He mashed down on a large red button above the light switch. Nothing happened. He slapped it again and again.

“The button does call a nurse,” Dr. Kidan said. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we or anyone else can do for him now.”

The black boils now covered C Prime’s arms, neck, and face. He stopped slapping the button and sank to his knees, gasping for breath.

Jupiter turned to the microbiologist. “What about contagion levels?”

“Oh, he’s contagious, via the pneumonic transfer. Despite being asymptomatic, C Prime has been contaminating his quarters for sixteen days.” Dr. Kidan tapped his tablet, and the LCD window took on an orange hue. Tiny pink circles were everywhere in the room—on the furniture, the breakfast trolley, floating in the air. “You’re looking at a large volume of live PB2, each little bacterium searching for a new host. We can’t even risk recovering the body for an autopsy.”

The patient lay propped against the door, eyes open, unmoving. Dr. Kidan pressed the last button on his tablet screen, and the room burst into flame. He grinned. “PB2 achieved all your objectives, Mr. Jupiter. And we’ve produced a large volume.”

“You’ve mastered the pace of this disease. Well done. But tell me, can you do the same with the less contagious variant—PB1?”

The microbiologist cast him a questioning look, as if wondering why anyone would want to do such a thing, but nodded. “Yes. We can manipulate the bacteria to select a range of timelines for symptom onset.”

“Good. I may have a use for that.” Jupiter pressed a hand against the false window, looking utterly absorbed by the smoke and flame. “You’ve created a masterpiece, Dr. Kidan. I asked for a nation killer, and you delivered.”

39

Duval watched his partner climb from their rented Renault in Zürich and tried to decide if he looked better or worse without the bandages. Calix’s pistol whipping had left Renard with a twisted beak and a face of mottled yellow and purple. Duval had not fared much better. Deep breaths and coughing amplified the pain of his broken ribs, and his head still hurt at night, thanks to the braining he’d taken from the Razny woman.

He pulled himself up from the passenger seat and frowned across the roof at his partner. “You look like a creature from a zombie movie.”

“I don’t find that funny, Capitaine.”

“Don’t growl at me, Sergeant. I didn’t smash your nose.”

“No. Calix did.” Renard touched his face and flinched.

Duval chuckled, plucking the nerve. “Don’t worry. This time he won’t have a gun to club you with.”

They left the rental in a public parking lot between the three facilities that shared the