Biowar

69

Rubens’ belated realization that he had underestimated and misjudged Ms. Marshall served as a proper chastisement, and by the time he had reached Crypto City from her apartment he had completed a dozen phone calls, gathering the background information that he surely should have compiled earlier. The most informative source proved to be a member of the fourth estate, who was somewhat sympathetic toward Rubens thanks to a handy tip in an earlier domestic matter Rubens had had some firsthand knowledge of. After consulting with a professional gossipmonger, the reporter was able to run down a long list of connections to political donors. More interestingly, he provided the tidbit that Ms. Marshall had filed for bankruptcy a few months before coming east, apparently undone by some poor real estate investments and, it was rumored, a fondness for illicit mind expanders.

Rubens dismissed the drug rumor — clearly Marshall was too much a control freak to allow herself to indulge on a regular basis. But the financial connections accounted for her influence as well as her motivation. And among those connections were two firms with projects in Internet security.

Both had done work for the NSA. Hence the importance of his opinion. Neither had done a particularly competent job, hence the likelihood of his negative opinion being shared vociferously — not so much on the study but on who would do the study.

The most obvious things were always the most difficult to find. Another lesson.

Rubens was not such a political naïf that he was shocked by the motivations involved. On the contrary, he would have been surprised had avarice not been involved. No, surely what was significant was not the motivation but the boldness of the threat and the corresponding promise. For it implied the ability to affect presidential decisions far beyond the normal scope enjoyed by someone like Ms. Marshall or the political donors associated with her, for all their dollars.

There was the possibility that it was mere bluff, an overplayed hand clumsily put forth by a newcomer unskilled in the Machiavellian arts.

Rubens knew Marcke through Hadash; their association went back more than a decade. Marcke had his peculiarities and normal political vulnerabilities, of course, but his personality suggested strongly that he would make up his own mind about cabinet appointments and any attempt to unduly influence him — especially by a campaign donor — would be met with considerable animosity.

But then Marshall’s threat was of a negative nature — a veto. From what Rubens knew of Marcke, a direct move to nix a choice would surely provoke a strong reaction. To be effective, the move would have to be more subtle — a whisper of disapproval, a hint of scandal.

Rubens had no skeletons in his closet, and Marshall and her backers would clearly know that. Any attack on him would have to be at once subtle and direct. Someone in the Senate determined to block the appointment — that would be the proper tactic.

Rubens ran through the roster of possible suspects as he drove back to Crypto City and headed toward the Art Room in the basement of the Black Chamber, the most secret lair in the world. Melfi from New Jersey — a liberal with real power on the Senate Banking Committee. But the banking connections argued against him; he had no need of Marshall’s ilk. And Rubens and banking people in general got along fine; genetics, after all, could not be fudged.

The woman from Georgia — hadn’t he snubbed her at a recent reception? What was her name? He couldn’t remember; he was blocking it out, along with her face.

God, to forget a senator’s name at a time like this.

Rubens waited impatiently in the security chamber leading to the Art Room. The sensors did not take his identity for granted; he was not only checked for bugs and electronic devices, but the sensors also sniffed his clothes for untoward chemicals. Cleared through, he strode into the control room, still somewhat distracted by the need to find an enemy among the Senate.

“Karr’s been quarantined at the base,” said Chafetz. “Doctors say he’s in very good shape.”

“Does he have it?”

“Oh yes, he’s got it,” said Chaucer. The scientist got up from his station a row away, rubbing his eyes. “But we think he may have found the cure as well. His fever’s dropped back to normal, he has only a few welts, and the bacteria is gone from his saliva. The cure is remarkable — it is like an antidote, truly.”

Karr had arrived at a military hospital near Phitsanulok in the central plains of Thailand. While the results so far were only preliminary, it was clear that he both had had the disease and was well on his way to being over it.

“It would fit with our working theory,” explained Chaucer. “Kegan came into the area looking for a fungus that is related to the penicillin family. The books that Mr. Bibleria located relate to cures such as this, and in checking Chinese texts related to rat-bite fever we found a mention of cures in what we now call Thailand. We need a chemical analysis, of course.”

Rubens realized it fit together nicely — a little too nicely. As a mathematician, he had been trained to find simple answers to complex problems. But as a spymaster, he had found the world generally preferred complex answers to simple problems.

Such as the situation with the Internet DNA?

A bluff. Surely she was bluffing.

“Have you told Tommy about this?” Rubens asked Chafetz.

“We don’t have a secure link yet,” said Marie Telach, just joining them. “Apparently the battery in his transmission unit ran out and his spare hasn’t been recovered. How much of a quarantine do we need here? The two Marines are with him and they’re making noises about busting out.”

“They’d better not do that,” said Chaucer. “We’re still not positive that it’s only transmitted via bodily fluids.”

“Do they have it?” asked Rubens.

“Not according to the tests.”

“Release them then.”

“Now wait on that,” said Telach. “If we’re wrong, we could be unleashing an epidemic.”

Rubens noticed that her lower lip was quivering. It quickly stopped, but he continued to stare — he’d never seen that happen before, and the Art Room supervisor had worked for him for years, since well before the advent of Desk Three.

“We have to be cautious,” she added

The tremor again.

“Very well,” said Rubens. “Keep them under observation for the time being.”

He turned back to the doctor. “How does this fungus work?”

“Basically it’s like a natural penicillin,” said the doctor. As he started to explain, Rubens remembered something Dean had mentioned when talking about Kegan.

“How would he know about it?” Rubens asked.

The expert shrugged. “Probably came across it somehow. Accident.”

“Could it cure cancer?”

“Cancer?” The scientist laughed. “I doubt it. Well, you know.” He shrugged. “People might say it did.”

“Tell me about pancreatic cancer. What do they do for it?”

“Nothing that works.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I’m not positive. I can check. Is it important?”

“Probably not,” admitted Rubens. “Don’t waste your time.”