Manny marched close to the Ranger. "What if we miss the other team?" he asked softly. "Jorgensen had our radio equipment. It was our only way of contacting the outside world."
Kelly hadn't considered this fact. With the radio gone, they were cut off.
"We'll reach the others," Carrera said with a steely determination.
No one argued with her. No one wanted to.
They marched onward through the dark jungle, concentrating on just moving forward. As hours ticked by, the tension blended into a blur of bone-weary exhaustion and endless fear. Their passage was marked with hoots and strange cries. Everyone's ears were pricked for the telltale buzz of the locusts.
So they were all startled when the small personal radio hanging from Private Carrera's field jacket squawked with static and a few scratchy words. "This is...if you can hear...radio range..."
Everyone swung to face the Ranger, eyes wide. She pulled her radio's microphone from her helmet to her mouth. "This is Private Carrera. Can you hear me? Over."
There was a long pause, then..."Read you, Carrera. Warczak here. What's your status?"
The Ranger quickly related the events in a dispassionate and professional manner. But Kelly saw how the soldier's fingers trembled as she held the microphone to her lips. She finished, "We're following your trail. Hoping to rendezvous with the main team in two hours."
Corporal Warczak responded, "Roger that. Dr. Rand and I are already under way to meet you. Over and out."
The Ranger closed her eyes and sighed loudly. "We're gonna be okay," she whispered to no one in particular.
As the others murmured in relief, Kelly stared out at the dark jungle.
Out here in the Amazon, they were all far from okay.
Act Four
Blood Jaguars
HORSETAIL
family: Equisetaceae
genus: Equisetum
species: Arvense
common name: Field Horsetail
ethnic names: At Quyroughi, Atkuyrugu, Chieh Hsu Ts'Ao, Cola de Caballo, Equiseto Menor, Kilkah Asb, Prele, Sugina, Thanab al Khail, Vara de Oro, Wen Ching
properties/actions: Astringent, Antiinflammatory, Diuretic, Antihemorrhagic
Twelve
Lake Crossing
AUGUST 15, 8:11 A.M.
INSTAR INSTITUTE
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Lauren slid the magnetic security card through the lock on her office door and entered. It was the first chance she'd had to return to her office in the past day. Between stretches in the institute's hospital ward visiting Jessie and meetings with various MEDEA members, she hadn't had a moment to herself. The only reason she had this free moment was that Jessie seemed to be doing very well. Her temperature continued to remain normal, and her attitude was growing brighter with every passing hour.
Cautiously optimistic, Lauren began to hope that her initial diagnosis had been mistaken. Maybe Jessie did not have the jungle disease. Lauren was now glad she had kept silent about her fears. She could have needlessly panicked Marshall and Kelly. Lauren may have indeed placed too much confidence in Alvisio's statistical model. But she could not fault the epidemiologist. Dr. Alvisio had indeed warned her his results were far from conclusive. Further data would need to be collected and correlated.
But then again, that pretty much defined all the current levels of investigation. Each day, as the disease spread through Florida and the southern states, thousands of theories were bandied about: etiological agents, therapeutic protocols, diagnostic parameters, quarantine guidelines. Instar had become the nation's think tank on this contagion. It was their job to ferret through the maze of scientific conjecture and fanciful epidemiological models to glean the pearls from the rubbish. It was a daunting task as data flowed in from all corners of the country. But they had the best minds here.
Lauren collapsed into her seat and flicked on her computer. The chime for incoming mail sounded. She groaned as she slipped on a pair of reading glasses and leaned closer to the screen. Three hundred and fourteen messages waited. And this was just her private mailbox. She scrolled down the list of addresses and skimmed the subject lines, searching through the little snippets for anything important or interesting.
[email protected] - re: simian biosimilarities
[email protected] - call for sample standardization
[email protected] - prog. report
[email protected] - large scale biological labs
[email protected] - pharmacy question
[email protected] - quarantine projection
[email protected] - request for interview
As she scrolled down, one name caught her eye. It was oddly familiar, but she could not remember exactly why. She brought her computer's pointer to the name: Large Scale Biological Labs. She crinkled her nose in thought, then it came to her. The night Jessie's fever developed, she had been paged by this same outfit. Well after midnight, she recalled. But the sick child had distracted her from following up on the page.
It probably wasn't important, but she opened the e-mail anyway, her curiosity now aroused. The letter appeared on the screen. Dr. Xavier Reynolds. She smiled, instantly recognizing the name. He had been a grad student of hers years ago and had taken a position at some lab in California, perhaps this same lab. The young man had been one of her best students. Lauren had attempted to recruit him into the MEDEA group here at Instar, but he had declined. His fiance had accepted an associate professorship at Berkeley, and he had naturally not wanted to be separated.
She read his note. As she did, the smile on her lips slowly faded.
From:
[email protected] Date: 14 Aug 13:48:28
To:
[email protected] Subject: Large Scale Biological Labs
Dr. O'Brien:
Please excuse this intrusion. I attempted to page you last night, but I assume you're very busy. So I'll keep this brief.
As with many labs around the country, our own is involved in researching the virulent disease, and I think I've come across an intriguing angle, if not a possible answer to the root puzzle: What is causing the disease? But before voicing my findings, I wanted to get your input.
As head of the proteonomic team here at Large Scale Biological Labs, I have been attempting to index mankind's protein genome, similar to the Human Genome Project for DNA. As such, my take on the disease was to investigate it backward. Most disease-causing agents- bacteria, viruses, fungi, parasites- do not cause illness by themselves. It is the proteins they produce that trigger clinical disease. So I hunted for a unique protein that might be common to all patients.
And I found one! But from its folded and twisted pattern, a new thought arose. This new protein bears a striking similarity to the protein that causes bovine spongiform encephalopathy. Which in turn raises the question: Have we been chasing the wrong tail in pursuing a viral cause for this disease?
Has anyone considered a prion as the cause?
For your consideration, I've modeled the protein below.
Title: unknown prion (?)
Compound: folded protein w/ double terminal alpha helixes
Model:
Exp. Method: X-ray diffraction
EC Number: 3.4.1.18
Source: Patient #24-b12, Anawak Tribe, lower Amazon
Resolution: 2.00 R-Value: 0.145
Space Group: P21 20 21
Unit cell:
dim: a 60.34 b 52.02 c 44.68
angles: alpha 90.00 beta 90.00 gamma 90.00
Polymer chains: 156L Residues: 144
Atoms: 1286
So there you have the twisted puzzle. As I value your expertise, Dr. O'Brien, I would appreciate your thoughts, opinions, or judgments before promoting this radical theory.
Sincerely,
Xavier Reynolds, Ph.D.
"A prion." Lauren touched the diagram of the molecule. Could this indeed be the cause?
She pondered the possibility. The word prion was sci
entific shorthand for "proteinaceous infectious particle." The role of prions in disease had only been documented within the last decade, earning a U.S. biochemist the 1997 Nobel Prize. Prion proteins were found in all creatures, from humans down to single-celled yeast. Though usually innocuous, they had an insidious duality to their molecular structure, a Jekyll-and-Hyde sort of thing. In one form, they were safe and friendly to a cell. But the same protein could fold and twist upon itself, creating a monster that wreaked havoc on cellular processes. And the effect was cumulative. Once a twisted prion was introduced into a host, it would begin converting the body's other proteins to match, which in turn converted its neighbors, spreading exponentially through the host's systems. Worse, this host could also pass the process to another body, a true infectious phenomenon.
Prion diseases had been documented both in animals and man: from scabies in sheep to Creutsfeldt-Jacob disease in humans. The most well-known prion disease to date was one that crossed between species. Dr. Reynolds had mentioned it in his letter: bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or more commonly, mad cow disease.
But these human diseases were more of a degenerative nature, and none were known to be transmitted so readily. Still, that did not rule out prions as a possibility here. She had read research papers on prions and their role in genetic mutations and more severe manifestations. Was something like that happening here? And what about airborne transmission? Prions were particulate and subviral in size, so since certain viruses could be airborne, why not certain prions?
Lauren stared at the modeled protein on the computer screen and reached for her desk phone. As she dialed, an icy finger ran up her spine. She prayed her former student was mistaken.
The phone rang on the other end, and after a moment, it was answered. "Dr. Reynolds, proteonomics lab."
"Xavier?"
"Yes?"
"This is Dr. O'Brien."
"Dr. O'Brien!" The man began talking animatedly, thanking her, thrilled.
She cut him off. "Xavier, tell me more about this protein of yours." She needed as much information from him as possible, the sooner the better. If there was even a minute possibility that Dr. Reynolds was correct...
Lauren bit back a shudder as she stared at the crablike molecule on her computer monitor. There was one other fact she knew about prion-triggered diseases.
There were no known cures.
9:18 A.M.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Nate looked over Olin Pasternak's shoulder. The CIA's communications expert was growing ever more frustrated with the satellite computer system. Beads of sweat bulleted his forehead, both from the morning's steaming heat and his own consternation.
"Still no feed...goddamn it!" Olin chewed his lower lip, eyes squinting.
"Keep trying," Frank urged on the other side.
Nate glanced to Kelly, who stood beside her brother. Her eyes were haunted and dull. Nate had heard various versions of last night's attack: the strange swarm of giant locusts attracted to the camp by the burning Ban-ali marker. It was too horrible to imagine, impossible, but Jorgensen's death made it all too real.
Once the entire group had been reassembled at the swamp-side camp last night, the Ranger team had remained on guard. The group kept a posted watch throughout the night, in and around the surrounding forest, alert for any danger, watchful for any flare of flames, ears keened for the whine of locusts. But nothing happened. The few hours until dawn had been uneventful.
As soon as the communication satellite was in range, Olin had set about trying to reach the States and to relay messages to the Wauwai field base. It was vital to radio the change in plans to all parties. With unknown hunters dogging their trail, it was decided to continue with the goal of rafting across the swamp. Captain Waxman hoped to get a couple of days' jump on his pursuers, leave their trackers traipsing around the swamp on foot. Once across, Waxman would keep a constant watch on the waters for any Ban-ali canoes and keep the group intact on the far shore until the evac helicopter could arrive. He planned to trade each civilian with another Ranger from the field base at the mission. With these new forces, he would continue on Gerald Clark's trail.
There was only one problem with his plan.
"I'm gonna have to rip the laptop down to the mother-board," Olin said. "Something is damnably fritzed. Maybe a faulty chip or even a loose one knocked out of place by the manhandling these past two days. I don't know. I'll have to tear it down and check it all."
Waxman had been speaking with his staff sergeant, but he overheard Olin. The captain stepped nearer. "We don't have time for that. The third raft is ready, and it'll take a good four hours to cross the waters. We need to get moving."
Nate glanced to the swamp's edge and saw four Rangers positioning the newly constructed raft so that it floated beside the two prepared last night. The additional raft was necessary to carry everyone in their expanded party.
Olin hovered over his computer and satellite dish with a small screwdriver. "But I've not been able to reach anyone. They won't know where we are." He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. His features were pale.
Zane stood, shifting his feet uneasily and rubbing at a Band-Aid on his cheek that covered a locust bite. "We could send someone back and retrieve Jorgensen's pack with the military radio," he suggested.
Everyone began talking at once, arguing both sides.
"We'd lose another day waiting." "We'd risk more of our people." "We need to reach someone!" "Who knows if his radio will even work, what with all those locusts. They could've chewed through the wiring and--"
Waxman interrupted, his voice booming. "There is no reason to panic!" He directed his comment to all of them. "Even if we can't raise the outside, the field base knows our rough location from yesterday's report. When the Brazilian evac copter comes tomorrow as previously arranged, we'll hear it--even from across the swamp. We can send up orange smoke flares to draw their attention to our new location."
Nate nodded. He had not participated in the argument. In his mind, there was only one way to go--forward.
Waxman pointed to Olin. "Pack it up. You can work on the problem once we're on the far side."
Resigned, Olin nodded. He returned his tiny screwdriver to his repair kit.
With the matter settled, the others dispersed to gather their own gear, readying for the day's journey.
"At least we won't have to walk," Manny said, patting Nate on the shoulder as he passed on his way to wake Tor-tor. The jaguar was asleep under a palm, oblivious to the world after last night's trek.
Nate stretched a kink from his neck and approached Professor Kouwe. The Indian shaman stood near the swamp, smoking his pipe. His eyes were as haunted as Kelly's had been. When Nate and Corporal Warczak had met the fleeing group on the trail, the professor had been unusually quiet and somber, more than could be attributed to the loss of Jorgensen.
Nate stood silently beside his old friend, studying the lake, too.
After a time, Kouwe spoke softly, not looking at Nate. "They sent the locusts...the Ban-ali..." The shaman shook his head. "They wiped out the Yanomamo tribe with the piranha creatures. I've never seen anything like it. It's as if the Blood Jaguar tribe could indeed control the jungle. And if that myth is true, what else?" He shook his head again.
"What's troubling you?"
"I've been a professor of Indian Studies for close to two decades. I grew up in these jungles." His voice grew quiet, full of pain. "I should have known...the corporal...his screams..."
Nate glanced to Kouwe and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Professor, you saved everyone with the tok-tok powder."
"Not everyone." Kouwe drew on his pipe and exhaled. "I should've thought to relight the Ban-ali symbol before we left the camp. If I had, the young corporal would be alive."
Nate spoke sharply, trying to cut through the man's remorse and guilt. "You're being too hard on yourself. No amount of study or experience could prepare you to deal with the Ban-ali and their biologica
l attacks. Nothing like it has ever been documented before."
Kouwe nodded, but Nate sensed that the man was hardly convinced.
Captain Waxman called from near the water's edge. "Let's load up! Five to a raft!" He began assigning Rangers and dividing the civilians accordingly.