“Don’t you think the authorities are going to think it’s a little strange that we’re heading for port?” Jackson asked Grace.
“If we stay out at sea, we’ll be found for sure,” replied Grace. “This way we have a chance to swim to shore before anyone arrives to board this ship.”
“Swim?” said Jackson as if the word was poison.
“Yeah. When we’re about a kilometer from the shore, we’re all going over the side.”
“Jesus, I haven’t had to swim that far since Ranger school, and that was a million years ago.”
“Me neither,” added Mitchell. “But look, you’re already soaked to the bone; consider this your workout for the day.”
When Jackson spotted Midori laying several spear guns on the deck, his dismay grew. “What are those for?”
“Sharks,” explained Grace. “There aren’t many reported around here, but better safe than sorry.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Jackson.
“You worry too much,” said Mitchell as he began to strip down for the swim. “Besides, look at things this way: once we get ashore, I have no doubt that the entire Venezuelan police force as well as their armed forces will be looking for us. The swim ashore is going to be a picnic compared to getting out of Venezuela before being arrested for sabotaging a multi-billion-dollar oil rig and shooting down a helicopter.”
“When you say it like that, I can’t wait to get in the water,” replied Jackson sarcastically.
Mitchell said to Grace, “I take it you have someone waiting to pick you up?”
“I do, but I had only planned for Midori and me,” replied Grace. “Our arrangement as I see it is now over. We’ve both failed. Whatever was in the probe that my employers wanted is now gone, and I somehow doubt that McMasters is dead. I’ve learned the hard way that cockroaches don’t die that easy.”
Mitchell didn’t know what to say. Grace was right. They had failed.
“Look, I’ll get you two into Caracas, but after that, you’re on your own,” said Grace.
“Fair enough,” replied Mitchell. He turned his head and looked up into the night sky. He spotted the North Star and silently prayed that General O’Reilly had contacts in this part of the world that could help them. If not, their future was bleak indeed.
25
More than nine thousand kilometers away, Jen fidgeted nervously on her seat while the old fluorescent bulb above her head buzzed loudly as it flickered on and off. She was tired and wished nothing more than to get back to their hotel, so she could take a long hot shower before crawling into bed.
Their trip from the rickety old barn where they had taken refuge to Saint Petersburg had thankfully been uneventful. The moment the snowstorm died down, Yuri went in search of help. He returned less than an hour later with a mustard-yellow Lada station wagon that looked like it was being held together by pieces of fraying duct tape. After dropping Pasha with an army buddy of his from the war, Yuri drove them to the Saint Petersburg State University. Professor Sergei Zharov, an old and trusted colleague of Tokarev’s, was waiting for them.
“Who wants some breakfast?” announced Yuri loudly, as he walked into the room with his hands full of food and coffee from a nearby McDonalds.
Cardinal jumped out of his seat to help Yuri hand out the food.
Sam dug through the bags and gave Yuri a disgusted look. “Yuri, I asked for some yogurt, where is it?”
“Sorry, little lady, this is Russia, not Los Angeles,” replied Yuri. “Here, have an egg sandwich.”
Sam grimaced, took the food, and then rummaged through the bags in search of some ketchup to make it more appetizing.
After taking a couple of coffees over to Tokarev and Zharov, Jen pulled up her stool and sat down. “Have you been able to learn anything new?” she asked Tokarev.
“Yes, plenty,” replied Tokarev. “Sergei agrees with my initial observation that the sample dug out the rock on the Moon contained genetic material and not platinum as you were told. He also concurs that what they found is a pathogen of some kind.”
“Has he been able to identify what type of pathogen it may be?”
“Not yet, he’s a very cautious man. He will examine every clue several times before he gives us an answer,” explained Tokarev.
His friend slowly got up from the table, stretched out his aching back and slowly shuffled over to a shelf piled high with old textbooks.
“I don’t understand,” said Jen. “How could something survive the deadly levels of radiation in outer space, not to mention the airless vacuum? Wouldn’t it need oxygen to live?”
“There are plenty of microbes that live deep within rocks or in environments lacking air. If we find life on another planet, chances are it will be microbial.”
“This is all heady stuff.” Jen took a sip of her coffee.
Tokarev looked over at Jen’s his face grave. “Jen, have you ever heard of a theory called panspermia?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Some people believe that life exists in abundance throughout the universe and that it is moved about by comets, asteroids, or comets. Some even go so far as to say that life here in Earth came from the stars.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Tokarev with a shrug. “There have been attempts in the past to prove this hypothesis; however, to the best of my knowledge all have failed under intense scientific scrutiny. That’s not to say it’s not true, it just means no one has proven it yet.”
Professor Zharov sat back down at the table and opened a book. He licked his thumb and flipped through the pages. He stopped when he found the article he was looking for. Zharov quietly read the article and with a troubled look on his face, he struck up a lively discussion with his old friend.
Jen looked from man to man as they debated something in Russian. Finally, unable to take it anymore, she cut in. “Gentlemen, what is it? Has Professor Zharov discovered something?”
Tokarev said, “Sergei believes that the probe found an anthrax-like pathogen on the Moon.”
“Anthrax!” blurted out Sam from across the floor. Instantly, she was up on her feet. She walked straight over to the table and said, “Did he say that they found anthrax on the Moon?”
“Sergei said anthrax-like,” replied Tokarev. “Please don’t forget the instrumentation on board the Luna 15 probe was extremely rudimentary compared to the probes sent to Mars these days.”
“No wonder your people tried to destroy it back in 1969,” said Jen. “Who knows what would have happened if it had crash-landed near a city.”
“At the time I was bitter and angry at my government for covering up the truth,” said Tokarev. “Now I can see why they did it.”
“Can you scan for me all of your notes and the information from the probe?” asked Jen.
“Of course,” replied Tokarev.
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked Jen.
“We need a second opinion. Mike Donaldson is bound to have connections at the CDC who will be able to better interpret this data.”
“Yeah, smart idea,” replied Sam. “What do you want to do next?”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot shower and a change of clothes. I can forward the information to Mike via the laptop in my room at the hotel.”
“A shower sounds good right now. I’ll tell Yuri and Gordon what’s going on.”
Jen turned Zharov’s book towards her and looked down at the pictures of Russian soldiers in chemical suits examining the effects of weaponized anthrax on a flock of dead sheep. Right away, a cold shiver ran down her spine. There was no doubt in her mind that the people who had stolen the probe and murdered Maria were after the pathogen. The question she had was… why.