The Genesis Plague (2010)

nightfall had already descended over Iraq’s northern mountains. It wasn’t sunlight that now filled the passage - it was floodlights. And at the opening, he could just make out two marine snipers lying prostrate on the incline. Crawford had indicated that a SUG-V would soon be sent into the tunnels.
    Then just outside the window, Stokes heard a pecking sound. He turned to see a white dove perched outside his window. An untrained observer would easily consider this a miracle since doves weren’t native to the Mojave Desert. However, it wasn’t uncommon for local hotels to release flights of doves during wedding ceremonies. But surely this lone messenger had been sent for Stokes.
    He has given me a sign that the time has come. ‘Thank you, Lord. I am your servant. I am your avenger.’ With renewed vigour, he turned back to the computer and input the encryption keys that brought up the Remote Systems Interface. Using this simple command module, Stokes could manage virtually the critical systems installed in the cave’s deepest, most protected chamber. He stared at the main panel where seven indicator icons blinked ‘SEALED’. He moved the mouse pointer over the first icon and let his index finger hover over the mouse button.
    ‘Is it time, Lord? Give me a sign.’
    The sign he received was not what he expected: a new message alert chimed over the computer speakers. His heartbeat quickened.
    Stokes immediately switched program windows to check his email inbox. An absurd thought came to him: might God be so bold as to communicate through e-mail?
    But the message was not from Heaven. It was from Iraq. Crawford’s simple message read: ‘NEED MORE TIME.’
    Disappointed, Stokes clamped his jaw tight.
    When he turned to the window, the dove was no longer there. The rash on his hands suddenly flared and he scratched at it incessantly with a letter opener, with little relief. Then he dipped into his pocket for his pillbox.

27
BOSTON
    Studying the USAMRIID insignia on the BlackBerry’s display, Brooke positively recognized the three icons central to its design: a chromosome helix, a Petri culture dish and a five-pointed star. Such a unique image was easy to remember, and she was certain that this was the exact insignia embossed on the scientist’s report cover. ‘I don’t understand. How could the Infectious Disease guys have anything to do with the cave?’
    Flaherty shook his head. ‘We’ve had bioweapons teams in Iraq since we first stepped foot there. Remember, Iraq supposedly had a huge cache of WMDs?’
    She vividly remembered the Department of Defense’s elaborate slideshow on national television that included ominous, yet hazy, satellite images of Iraqi weapons facilities ready to churn out biological agents. In the context of it all, the mission statement listed on USAMRIID’s website made perfect sense: ‘To conduct basic and applied research on biological threats resulting in medical solutions to protect the warfighter.’
    ‘Maybe they found something in the cave, like a chemical weapons stash,’ he guessed.
    ‘I don’t remember anything like that.’ She keyed the agency name into Wikipedia and scrolled the entry. ‘Says here the agency began in the fifties at Fort Detrick, Maryland … biomedical defence … opened a state-of-the-art biocontainment facility in 1971 …’
    ‘The Crozier Building. That’s where they test and stockpile weaponized Ebola, anthrax and smallpox, among other things. You know, Cold War goodies.’
    ‘Nice.’ She kept reading. ‘What’s a BSL facility?’
    ‘Biosafety containment lab. I toured a BSL-4 mobile unit at one of our security conventions. Picture a tractor trailer with a state-of-the-art safe lab, a built-in airlock and Hazmat gear. I remember the guide saying they used them during the Gulf War.’ He considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Hey, any chance you saw something like that at the cave? Any guys wearing bio-suits?’
    It didn’t take much thought before she replied, ‘No.’
    The more Brooke read, the more the military’s biodefence division sounded like a biological bakery that specialized in the most unsavoury recipes. She wasn’t sure whether to praise or fear its existence. ‘Who runs this place?’
    He pronounced the acronym USAMRIID phonetically: ‘You-sam-rid. It answers to the US Army Medical Research and Materiel Command. An army colonel oversees the operation.’
    ‘Not a scientist?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Isn’t that