Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,54

is paying you all to find out!”

“Our working theory is still pheromones, Mr. Leahy,” says Freitas, who has two black eyes and a broken nose covered with a thick beige bandage. “We believe that explains why, as soon as the mustangs ‘smelled’ Helen, they backed off.”

“But why is it happening to some folks and not others?” Leahy demands. “Why in some places and not others?”

Those are all fair questions. But I have an even more pressing one.

“Why hasn’t it shown signs of regressing?” I ask. My colleagues all turn to me quizzically. “And why aren’t any of you more afraid of that?

“Think back seven months ago,” I continue, “when the president signed that emergency executive order, and all those world leaders joined her, putting a global moratorium on cellphone use, power generation, cars, planes. While it lasted, nearly all electromagnetic radiation was removed from the environment, and animal attacks plummeted—within hours. Wildlife started returning to normal.”

Nods all around the table. Happy memories from a more hopeful time.

“But look at Helen. She’s been in a completely sterile environment, inside a Faraday shield that blocks all electrical signals, for almost two days—and she’s as feral as ever! We know how to reverse the effects of HAC on animals. But on people? We’re back to square one. Is there an ‘antidote,’ or is it permanent? Shit, maybe it is contagious after all.”

For what feels like forever, no one speaks. I’m not happy I just sucked all the air out of the conference room, but I said what I felt I had to.

“It’s almost as if…some kind of irreversible physical changes are happening in Helen’s brain,” Sarah says somberly. “Perhaps we’ve been approaching it all wrong.”

“Perhaps we should hear the latest on everyone’s research first,” Freitas says, steering the meeting back on track.

And so the rest of the scientists present their latest, equally inconclusive findings. Then the group starts filing out. We all have an enormous amount of work to do.

Shakily, I rise to my feet and begin limping toward the door. Freitas pulls me aside, placing a paternal hand on my back.

“Oz, I have some news,” he says, his voice solemn. “About your family.”

“The French cellphone number Chloe called from was identified, along with its last location: an abandoned monastery near Chantilly. Apparently some kind of wacko animal rights cult has been squatting there.”

I know right away they must be the “friends of the Earth” Chloe cryptically mentioned in her message.

“When agents arrived, the group itself was gone, but local police have some leads as to where they went next.”

I can only pray Chloe and Eli are still with them. But I do have additional cause for hope. Among the other items they found in the monastery was our dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

Chapter 23

“Please hold for the president of the United States.”

I’ve met Marlena Hardinson many times before. I lectured her and other world leaders in the Cabinet Room of the White House. I even spent a few months living with her, the First Gentleman, and other high-ranking officials at Thule Air Base in Greenland after animals overran Washington and the government was temporarily evacuated.

Still, it’s always pretty exciting to get a call from the leader of the free world.

Even when you know she’s about to chew you out.

“Dr. Freitas, Mr. Oz,” President Hardinson says pointedly as soon as she gets on the line, her husky voice brimming with frustration. “Can you please explain to me how an international operation costing over half a million dollars in travel, equipment, and logistical expenses per day has yielded no new breakthroughs on the animal crisis—or the growing human one—in almost four weeks?”

Freitas and I, along with just a few other colleagues (since most of our team, including Sarah, is still in Idaho hard at work), are back aboard our transport plane, this time flying across the Pacific. We’re listening to this unexpected call on an encrypted speakerphone.

Freitas gulps, visibly rattled.

“I see you received the briefing packet we prepared for you, Madam President.”

“Which might as well have been a stack of blank pages,” she responds. “Except the part about the new human affliction being ‘potentially irreversible.’ Is that true?”

“We don’t know for sure, ma’am,” I cut in. “After all, we’ve only been able to examine one live specimen. That’s why we’re on our way to—”

“Tokyo. Yes, I’m aware. I spoke with Prime Minister Iwasaki this morning and informed him of your plans. He told me, in confidence, that there have been dozens