Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,16
succeed, within a week, people—mostly men—are going to start dropping dead. The president’s aides, Secret Service agents, senators, most of the White House staff. They’re all going to die, very soon. Never mind the possibility that this has already been deployed in other parts of the world. Half the world could have contracted the disease and no one would be the wiser.”
“So the disease doesn’t affect women?” Knight asked.
Sara shook her head no. “It does, but not nearly as frequently. We’re not sure yet how this new strain will act, but we believe it will hold true. All that has changed from the original disease is the time frame in which it kills—the president and Brentwood both died within a week of contracting flu symptoms. Women, for the most part, are unaffected.”
“Which is why you need the Chess Team,” Queen said.
Keasling cleared his throat. “You’re the only woman in the Special Forces, Queen. If all these guys drop dead, you’ll still be around to finish the job.”
“But she won’t be alone,” King said, eyeing Sara. “Will she?”
“No,” Sara said. “I’m going with you.”
Rook frowned. “No offense, but I think that’s a really bad idea.”
That was just the kind of macho garbage Sara had expected. And she wasn’t going to take it. There was too much at stake. “Just because I’m not a soldier—”
“I’m not trying to bust your chops,” Rook said. “I just don’t like—”
Sara raised her voice. “I can watch out for myself.”
“But you don’t have to watch out for yourself,” King said. He looked back at Rook. “Because that’s our job.”
Rook shrugged and leaned back. “Just don’t want her getting hurt is all.”
“And you won’t let her get hurt,” Keasling said. “She’s your mission. Keep her alive long enough to complete her mission.”
“To find the cure,” King said.
“Yes,” Sara said.
Knight squinted his almond-shaped eyes. “But why just her? Why not a team of scientists?”
“The first reason,” Keasling started, “is that we need to keep as low a profile as possible. A whole team of scientists would be hard to miss. And Miss Fogg is—”
“Better than any team of scientists you’ll find. I have two doctorates. One in molecular biology. Another in genetics. And an under-grad in biochemistry. I’ve published on molecular evolution and analytical morphometry. When I got bored with the research labs I joined the CDC and pursued fieldwork. I’ve been in outbreak hot zones around the world. Kenya. Congo. India. I’ve handled cases of bluetongue, malaria, cholera, dengue fever, and leishmaniasis. And I’ve spent the last week studying Brugada, which is more time than anyone else physically capable of joining this mission.”
“Been shot at?” Rook asked.
Sara sucked in a quick breath. “No. But you won’t find anyone with my credentials who has been.”
“You’re probably right about that,” King said, then flashed an honest grin. “And what you deal with is more deadly than bullets, anyway, right?”
Sara’s lips curled in a slight smile. “Right.” She composed herself, stepped forward, and opened the top of her blouse, revealing her sternum and a small stitched-up incision. “If we’re just about finished with my interview, you all need to have some minor surgery. Each of you will have a cardioverter defibrillator implanted on your heart. Without getting technical, if your heart stops beating it will deliver a shock that should bring you back.”
“Should?” said Knight.
“Mortality rates in Brugada patients with cardioverters has been zero percent for the past ten years, but this new strain may affect the body in different ways. We haven’t had long to study it, so I can’t make any promises.”
Keasling stood. Time was short. “Wheels up in two hours. Get squared away and to the Pope airfield by . . .” Keasling checked his watch. “Thirteen hundred hours. We’ll debrief in detail there.”
THE BEAST ROARED and surged forward, gaining speed and tensing the muscles of the two people clinging to its back. The Harley-Davidson Night Rod Special not only looked badass with its straight-shot dual exhaust, all black-and-chrome body and sleek design, but it moved like a fighter jet, or at least as close as you could get with wheels touching the ground.
With the throttle opened up, King and Queen tore down the black tarred road that led to the Pope Air Force Base. King had saved for five years and had bought the 2009 motorcycle just three months previous.