Rick Chesler
OUTCAST Ops: The Poseidon Initiative
PROLOGUE
The surf was high that day, a day budding marine biologist Jasmijn Rotmensen would never forget. Breaking right on the sand, the waves exploded into a fine mist of sparkling water droplets that filled the air, delighting hundreds of beachgoers along the packed shoreline that hot Summer day as they ran and splashed and basked in the sun.
The twenty-year old stood on the edge of the sand, her backpack slung on one shoulder as she glanced at the pier to her right. She cursed the fact that she’d been up all night studying and slept in. Now she’d be lucky to find a patch of sand large enough to accommodate her towel, and it would be far back from the water’s edge. Such is life, she thought, as she tip-toed across the scorching beach. All she wanted to do, anyway, was to read a few s from her biochemistry text and get outside for a little while. No big deal.
Threading her way between people’s blankets and dodging tossed frisbees and balls, Jasmijn reached a relatively open spot of sand and stood there, gauging her chances of getting any closer to the water. It didn’t look good. This will have to do if I want to get some reading done anytime soon. Shielding her eyes with a hand, she glanced longingly at the ocean directly in front of the beach, just beyond the breaking waves. A frown formed over her delicate features. She blew a wisp of her blonde hair away from her eye as she studied a discolored mass just beyond the waves.
What’s that?
A shapeless, reddish-brown patch lay in the water, stretching roughly parallel to the beach in both directions as far as her eyes could see. An onshore breeze cropped up, causing her to blow another strand of hair off her face, and also, she noted, to push the discolored mass of water toward the breaking surf where dozens of kids and a few adults frolicked. She thought back to one of her biology books, her quick mind associating the physical thing in front of her with a passage of text she’d read a year earlier.
Red tide!
She couldn’t recall all of the details, but Jasmijn knew that a red tide was a massive bloom of algae — microscopic plants in the water — that could be dangerous to fish because they depleted the surrounding water of all oxygen. Neither plants nor animals, they belonged to a classification of living creatures known as Protists.
She was trying to remember more when she heard the first screams.
“Help!” First one voice, then many more. “Help me!”
Others stood around her and Jasmijn had to crane her neck to look at the water’s edge, where clusters of bathing-suit clad people knelt on the wet sand.
“He can’t breathe!”
Up and down the beach the cries were repeated. A mass exodus of swimmers swarmed up the beach, trampling those who didn’t bother to get up to see what the commotion was about.
Shouts went up about making emergency calls.
Jasmijn squinted, looking past the throng of bodies now lying in the sand to the water beyond. The waves were red in color now, and when they crashed, a thick plume of red mist rose into the air where the onshore wind caught it and sprayed it over the beach crowd like a mister fan. Jasmijn stopped trying to make her way to the water as she dredged up a little more of what she knew about red tides from her memory banks.
Red tides are caused by dinoflagellates. They produce a powerful toxin that is accumulated by shellfish. People who eat shellfish that have been exposed to red tides sometimes contract Paralytic Shellfish Poisoning.
But that was through eating them. Even people who swam through a red tide weren’t known to get sick from it. As far as she knew, it only happened from eating shellfish, which accumulated the red tide toxins in their flesh. When cooked, that toxin failed to break down. Could it be that these people were breathing the red tide organisms in through the wave plumes and concentrating the toxins in their bloodstream that way?
Jasmijn watched another wave smash on the sand, sending another plume to waft out over the crowd of people which had swelled with those arriving to help.
Within an hour, the death toll would rise to nearly three hundred people.
ONE
Dr. Jasmijn Rotmensen looked up from a microscope and rubbed her tired eyes. The hour was late. Looking out the single lab window, she could see only a couple of dim lights on in the neighboring buildings. She was the only one crazy enough to work weekends. Then she quickly bent to the ‘scope again as if things might have changed in the last few seconds. Tanks full of saltwater bubbled on the lab bench around her. To a glance they appeared empty, but Jasmijn had carefully stocked them with dinoflagellates. She looked at the slide again and sighed, brushing a strand of hair — still blond but no longer the platinum it used to be — out of her eyes.
“Didn’t work?” Jasmijn’s research assistant, Nicolaas Aarens asked. Nicolaas was a second-year master’s degree student who had pestered Jasmijn for over a year in order for the chance to work with her. Yes, her reputation in the scientific community was unmatched after over a decade of hard work, but she suspected it was also a bit more than that. She often caught him looking at her a little too long. He produced quality work, though, and so she was willing to ignore it, at least for now. She looked up from the scope to return his gaze, his white lab coat one size too large for his slender frame, his bulbous nose anchoring a face full of freckles.
“Oh it worked all right,” she said with a sarcastic laugh, turning her attention to a cage nestled amidst the water tanks. She pointed inside to a still rat.
“The cancer’s dead. Trouble is, so’s Oliver.”
“Rest in peace, Ollie. You were my fave lab rat!”
“This STX derivative kills everything I throw at it within minutes.”
“Who would have thought that applying the red tide toxin that causes paralytic shellfish poisoning in this way would be too effective?”
“Yeah, I was just having a look at a cross-section of cells from the injection site to see if I could make sense of this, when—”
Suddenly the door to the lab burst open and in ran two armed men wearing combat fatigues and ski masks. Bursts of sound suppressed automatic weapons fire sprayed the lab. Glassware shattered, overhead lights blinked out.
“Freeze!” said the first.
“Don’t shoot the tanks! We all die if they break!” Jasmijn pointed at the row of bubbling water tanks plastered with hazardous materials warning labels. The special acrylic material was thick enough to handle an accidental drop to the floor, but wasn’t designed with stopping bullets in mind.
“Hands in the air!” shouted the second, eyes scanning the array of tanks. Jasmijn complied.
Then a third man entered the room, this one wheeling a hand truck supporting a tall, white plastic vat. He set the cart by the lab bench with the tanks and then said nothing while he roved about the lab, making certain no one else was here. He crouched and turned until he had scouted the entire room. He gave a hand signal to the other two, who then relaxed a bit before focusing on Jasmijn. One of the intruders, the taller of the two, stepped forward.
“Dr. Rotmensen,” the gunman said in Dutch. “Tell me. Why are you so concerned about the tanks?” He waved his gun at the row of bubbling rectangles.
“They contain an isolate of STX — Saxitoxin — it’s the chemical compound that comes from red tides.”
“It’s what gives people paralytic shellfish poisoning,” Nicolaas added, ever helpful. Jasmijn scowled at him.