“So then you’re saying, why fight it?’”
Alves smiled broadly. “Why indeed.”
“And your self-interest now is to find out how Dexter has lived so long and to find a way to copy it.”
“We can only hope.”
“So, all of this, all of this deception and deceit, was just so you could eventually go live like a monkey?” She scoffed. “Knock yourself out. I’m only doing this for Juan.”
This time Alves didn’t answer. He merely shrugged. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter to him why she was doing it or how she had to rationalize it to herself. The simple truth was that when it was over, neither Juan Diaz or DeeAnn Draper would ever be seen again.
When Caesare reached the Georgetown airport, the Grumman C-2 Greyhound transport plane was waiting for him on the tarmac. First built in 1966, the silver-colored, twin-engine C-2s were used by the Navy for various cargo missions and had flown millions of miles. And of the thousands of missions flown, the aircraft’s primary and most respected missions were delivering pieces of paper to aircraft carriers. Papers in the form of letters. Yet now with the digital age, the old C-2s flew far less often.
Caesare sprinted across the hot tarmac toward the plane. His large bag bobbed up and down as he ran, strapped tightly across his back. The various gear inside, particularly the rifle and ammunition, weighed him down considerably.
He reached the C-2 and, with a short leap, jumped through the lower positioned door. A crew member nodded then looked outside before pulling the heavy metal door shut. He gave the okay to the pilots. As the engines roared to life, he yelled over the noise to Caesare.
“Make yourself comfortable, sir!”
In his black fatigues, Caesare nodded and looked around. With no place to sit, he simply removed his bag and fell backward onto the dozens of oversized, stuffed mailbags.
48
Less than ten miles away, aboard the corvette, Lieutenant Wang Chao watched over the shoulder of Hoa Ling, his lead biologist. Like Chao, Ling had been handpicked by General Wei, as were the other four members of Ling’s team. They were the best in China, and probably in all of Asia. And if any of them were bothered by their extreme working conditions below deck, none showed it.
What the Americans didn’t know was that their ship wasn’t much of a corvette class at all, at least not anymore. Below deck, it had been completely gutted. Virtually all armaments and weaponry systems had been replaced with a science lab and even larger storage area. The only parts that had been kept were those that ensured the ship would float. Even the living quarters were reduced to the point of sheer necessity. With a minimal crew and science team, the gutting was the only thing that made it possible to store five weeks of extraction efforts in the cool, dark recesses of the boat’s bow. Chao’s ship was a corvette in appearance only.
Standing before both of them was a giant machine called a nanoscale magnetic torque transducer. Or as Ling’s team called it, the ‘nano-mag.’ It was required for the painstaking process in molecular biology referred to as transduction. In 1951, researchers in Wisconsin demonstrated the process of using a common virus to elicit an enzyme reaction, which then allowed for the DNA in one cell to be replicated or ‘cloned’ to another. And while the process had been honed over the years for better efficiency, the fundamental steps were surprisingly similar to those first steps documented over fifty years before.
Ling removed a small vial of clear liquid from the machine and screwed on the top. He then placed it into a thin, rectangular box next to him, which held two more vials. The inside lining of the box was ice cold, constructed specifically to house the vials at a near zero temperature during transit. Ling closed the lid and secured the clasp before presenting the box to Chao.
“They’re ready.”
Chao took the box and examined it, impressed. The exterior did not feel any noticeably cooler to the touch. What he held in his hands was the first complete extraction of the plant’s genome and biological material. The vials were filled with thousands of bacteria cells, all painstakingly injected with the plant’s chromosomal DNA through transduction. The cells were held dormant by the ice cold medium inside. Only above temperatures of thirty degrees Fahrenheit would they thaw and become active.
Chao went to a nearby station and wrapped a thick metal band around the box. Next to it, he wrapped another band of thick paper, with an intricate wax seal. If the box were opened, the recipient would know it. Of course, it was overkill in Chao’s opinion. After all, there would only be four people who touched the box, including Ling and Chao.
Chao immediately left the lab and carried the package up the metal ladder. He emerged from the ship and onto the deck. He then crossed the gangway where a soldier was waiting at attention. Another lieutenant, and one of impeccable reputation.
The man saluted to Chao, who returned it before handing the box to him. There were no misunderstandings. Either the man delivered the box personally, or he and his entire family had better already be dead.
Chao watched the man walk briskly to the truck and climb in. Would he make it? Chao wondered. Then another thought occurred to him. Did he even care?
Chao was also selected personally by General Wei but for a very different reason. Chao was ruthless. And ruthless in ways that literally redefined the word.
He’d served under the General before, and his reputation became well-known after one of their incursions. After a particularly nasty battle, Chao’s team had won the fight. But what he had done to enemy survivors left his entire platoon in disbelief.
But he was here now. Chao had been tapped again by Wei to get a job done, and to get it done without any emotional interference. What it really meant was to do it without any emotional baggage.
Oddly, Chao had always found the whole thing puzzling, if not entertaining. Being able to completely distance yourself from human emotion was an asset, not a liability. After all, how many commanding officers were willing to kill their own men?
Chao watched the small truck disappear to the east and turned to watch three of his Typhoons pull up. He climbed a small weeded slope to reach a dirt plateau where the trucks had stopped. He walked around to the back of the first truck while the driver eagerly got out and ran back to meet him. The driver inserted a key and opened the heavy door.
Inside, he could see them. Their dull green tanks were still barely visible within the truck’s darkened interior. Chao stepped inside and examined one. The harness was old and the straps frayed. Not surprising, given they hadn’t been used since the Vietnam War. Most countries had discontinued their use or even banned them outright. Of course, they were always a contingency, but Chao never expected to have to use them, and certainly not this soon. Yet, in the end, a plan that remained flexible was a plan that won.
Chao browsed the dozens of additional tanks stacked neatly behind each backpack. Each was filled with liquid propane. They were called ‘mechanical incendiary devices’ but they were known the world over by a more distinct name: flamethrowers.
The best and most ironic part was the original manufacturer: the United States military.
Twenty minutes later, Chao tossed a large bag onto the seat then climbed into the cab of the first truck. He gave the order to move out.
The tires on each of the Ural Typhoons dug into the ground and surged forward. Chao looked out his window and into the truck’s side view mirror, watching the ship slowly shrink behind them.
It would be his last trip up.