leading cities. New York and Los Angeles would be optimal additions.”
McKee opened a second binder and examined a map inside. Major port cities across the globe were highlighted, with various codes assigned to each. She looked from the map to her daughter.
“What did we deploy to Mumbai?”
“The last stocks of our second blend, the EP-2 mix,” Audrey replied. “When it was shipped, we still had hopes of minimal side effects. But as we discovered in El Salvador, that is not the case.”
McKee nodded. “Well, we knew the first blend carried the original attributes, so we tested it where no one would know the difference. Kenya, Tanzania, Nigeria. Dr. Perkins gave us hope for benign effects of the second blend when we began deploying it a few months ago. We now know he was wrong.”
“We’re lucky no undue suspicions have been raised. The fatalities in the other Third World countries where EP-2 was deployed haven’t received any attention.”
“The risk of exposure is still there,” McKee said, cutting her daughter a sharp glance. “And it is the western deployments that will be scrutinized.”
“True, but the risk profile has changed with the new release. Our initial deployments of the third blend, EP-3, have occurred without issue.”
“No adverse reports from Detroit?”
“None,” Audrey replied. “The product is proving indiscernible. We can accelerate dispersal without concern. Our only delay may be in increasing production, due to limited source matter.”
“An additional source sample may soon be at hand.”
McKee stood and gazed at the darkened skyline. “We are on the verge of a triumphant moment. In a matter of weeks, there won’t be a major metropolis beyond our reach. The global tipping point will soon follow.”
“All before anyone will have attempted to create an antidote. You’ll have done it, Mother. Changed the face of humanity forever.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Within a generation, we will turn the planet’s population upside down.” McKee relished the thought a moment. The hardened veneer cracked, and she allowed herself a smile. “Now tell me, how did things go in Detroit?”
“We started by treating the oil spill, then deployed the EP-3 product as the tanker wreckage was cleared. It was salvaged quicker than expected, so we only had a day or so of active dispersant once the city began drawing its water from the river again. There was one slight problem. One of our underwater cameras caught a NUMA diver investigating the dispersal lines beneath our ship.”
“Did he see anything?”
“He had no opportunity to tell anyone. We took care of him before he could.”
“Did you eliminate him without suspicion?”
She nodded. “It was made to look like an accident. Fortunately, it happened just as the job was winding down.”
“It will probably be best if you return to Scotland with me tomorrow.” She paused. “We do have, however, one more loose end. I learned from the senator that the U.S. aid scientist from El Salvador is here in Washington. Her name is Elise Aguilar.”
“I tried to dispatch her in El Salvador.”
McKee gave her daughter a stern look. “Your operation in El Salvador was a fiasco.”
“We were just following up on the EP-2 deployment,” Audrey said. “We didn’t know the U.S. scientific team would be there testing the water. We thought it best not to take chances.”
“Take chances? They were an agricultural team helping farmers. You created an international incident.”
“We know they took water samples—or at least the woman did.”
“If she had been killed with the others, then at least there would be no worries now.”
“There’s . . . something I need to tell you about that,” Audrey said. “The man who rescued this Aguilar woman at Cerrón Grande was the same person from NUMA who raised the Mayweather.”
“He was at Cerrón Grande? You are certain of this?”
Audrey nodded. “His name is Dirk Pitt. He is the Director of NUMA.”
“Yes, I met Pitt at the gala. Did he recognize you?”
“No.”
“Well, he should be no bother now.”
“I’ve heard he’s quite accomplished.”
“I may need his wife, but not him.” McKee turned and admired the lights of Washington. “I have two people in-country to take care of Aguilar. If Pitt chooses to interfere, it will be his misfortune.”
15
It was customary for Rudi Gunn to find a stack of correspondence waiting on his desk when he arrived at NUMA headquarters in the morning. What wasn’t usual was the extra-large paperweight he found awaiting him this day. It was a slightly used yellow dive scooter, with NUMA lettered in turquoise, parked on the center of his desk. Wrapped around it was a