Since he’d bought it, Queen had become a regular occupant at the back, holding King’s waist loosely, her blond hair rippling in the wind. In the first week they’d suffered a barrage of jokes inferring the deadly duo were now a couple, but a few bloodied noses and broken fingers put that rumor to bed long before King and Queen would ever share one.
The two were close friends, perhaps closer than many lovers, as they’d saved each other’s lives on numerous occasions, but the bond between them was closer to brother and sister than anything else. They fought together as King and Queen, he outsmarting while she moved in for the checkmate. They couldn’t be stopped.
But they could be late. Which they were now.
Late to saving the world. And for what? A quick stop at 7-Eleven. But King knew the supplies he bought there would come in handy.
Rook, Knight, and Bishop had gone ahead, taking King’s and Queen’s gear with them, so they’d be prepped to depart, but Sara’s briefing was scheduled to start five minutes ago. There might be hell to pay, but it was her best interests he was looking out for. She’d thank him later.
They pulled up to the security gate five minutes later, having covered the distance to the base at an average speed of ninety miles per hour. Queen was all smiles. The guard checked their IDs and opened the gate. “They’re waiting for you in Decon,” the guard said with a salute.
Decon was a room inside hangar 12, Delta’s personal spot on the airfield, which housed their classified transport. Though the room had been deemed “Decon” by the less-than-creative powers that be, Rook had renamed the room Limbo, the place between Heaven and Hell where missions began and ended.
King offered a slight salute in return and pulled into the 2,194-acre base, home to the 43rd Airlift Wing, the 23rd Fighter Group, and the 18th Air Support Operations Group. It served as a launch-pad for many major U.S. military mobilizations, but more frequently was utilized by the mass of Special Forces units based at Fort Bragg.
They drove into the open hangar toward Limbo, which was little more than a glorified conference room featuring potted plants (fake), a long conference table, and a ring of executive chairs. The room’s technology lay hidden behind the walls and beneath the surface of the table. King pulled up in front of the open door and found Sara, arms crossed, waiting in front of the high-def flat screen that not only fit seamlessly into the wall, but when turned off faded to the color and pattern of the wall, making it effectively disappear. He and Queen entered Limbo without a word and took their seats at the oval table. Keasling stood at the back of the room, waiting with his patented scowl.
Sara quietly closed the door and dimmed the lights. She wiggled the mouse attached to her laptop. The screen came to life, as did the flat screen embedded in the wall. Two horizontal squiggly lines appeared on the screen. The first image, labeled NORMAL, featured a small hill, a deep valley, and then another hill.
The second image, labeled RBBB, featured three peaks, each taller than the previous.
“These images are from President Duncan’s echocardiogram,” Sara said. “The image labeled normal is just that. This is what his QRS complex—the visual representation of his echocardiogram—looked like when he took office.”
Sara pointed to the second image. “This is what the president’s QRS complex looks like now. RBBB typically represents a variety of common medical conditions affecting the right side of the heart or lungs. This includes blood clots, chronic lung disease, atrial and ventricular septal defects, and cardiomyopathy. But that’s not all. When RBBB is detected in an individual who suffers from none of the above, it is seen as having no medical significance, is labeled a “normal variant,” and discarded. The point is that even when an echocardiogram is employed to detect health risks, Brugada slips through the net.”
Sara clicked the mouse. The screen showed an image they all recognized. A double helix. “DNA. Home to our genetic code, and birthplace of the mutations that sometimes create adaptations that help a species thrive. It’s also the home of countless genetic disorders that kill and disable more people every year, and with far more efficiency, than all of history’s wars. Brugada is even worse. It has the potential to be an undetectable pandemic. It could wipe out most of the male population