Genetic therapy is a new and revolutionary treatment (as of Jan. 2001 when this was written) that shows a great deal of promise, notably for finally bringing cures in sight for some disabling and often fatal illnesses.
The key to genetic therapy is to take viruses and modify them so they inject not viral genes, but one the paitent is missing. These viruses are, of course, harmless.
But suppose, this treatment was improved to the point when it could be turned into a terrifying weapon?
"Excuse me, Dr. Braun?"
"Yes?"
"I understand you've been developing a new form of genetic engineering?"
"I've been the leading researcher, Yes."
Dr. Braun, a man in his forties with his black hair starting to gray and dressed in a lab coat, was going down the hallway when he was interrupted by the stranger in the black business suit. The man stood a couple inches higher than he. His hair, blonde streaked with black, was combed slick back. Despite being indoors, he wore shaded glasses. His demeanor seemed rather cool.
"My name is Rimmer, John Rimmer. I've heard some about your research, and was wondering if you could spare a few minutes of your time."
Braun thought for a moment, "All right. I was on my way to my office. We can talk there if you want."
"That will be fine."
The two men headed on. Braun asked, "What was it you wanted to know?"
"To begin with, how is it different from standard genetic therapy?"
"Current genetic therapy involves modifying a virus, say a flu virus, so that instead of carrying an RNA strand to reprogram a cell to produce more viruses and little else, it carries a gene that the intended patient's cells are missing. When the modified viruses are introduced, hopefully they inject the missing gene into enough cells to cure the patient's genetic flaw."
"You said 'hopefully.' I take it this does not always work?"
By now, they reached Dr. Braun's office. The room was fairly small, with a single window showing a view of the city a few stories above the ground. The desk had a laptop computer and small printer on one side, and a phone, several folders, disks, and loose papers on the other. The office had a stocked bookshelf on one side, along with a file cabinet.
Braun went to the file cabinet and searched for something while continuing the talk, "Like any virus, the body might be able to fight it off. There are also other problems. Among them, the virus cannot reproduce so it is not effective on conditions where more than a small number of cells need to be corrected. Also, only one condition at a time can be treated this way. Third, while the genetic code is repaired, nothing is done to any damage the body itself might have suffered."
"And how is this different?"
Braun got a folder from the files, then focused on his visitor, "This isn't exactly a virus we're developing. Although it's much like one, it's more advanced. To begin with, these do multiply in the body, although only for the first few days. Then it slows to a halt. Also, they can treat multiple conditions. And most importantly, they have the ability to alter the structure of the body so they can repair any damage done."
Rimmer's expression showed perked interest, "Alter the structure of the body? Interesting."
"Yes. Some on the team are calling this a 'Proteus Virus' due to that ability."
"The Proteus Virus." Rimmer seemed to be pondering the details, "So what are the limits of the altering abilities?"
"As a medical researcher, I was interested only in their ability to ability to repair damage done by disease." He then thought for a moment, "I suppose it could be used to alter a healthy body, such as cosmetic surgery or a sex-change operation. One of the team members has a girlfriend whom he describes as a science-fiction nut. He joked if it were cheap enough, she might use it to grow fox ears and a tail." Braun let out a few snickers.
Rimmer cracked a smile, one that seemed more for show than any feeling for humor, "Interesting." It then faded, "If it were less expensive, you say. So this procedure is a rather costly one?"
"Yes, I'm afraid it will be at first. Hopefully the price will start to go down after a few years. Unfortunately, the research has been costly." He paused, "There's also a chance we may not get the funding we need to complete the project."
"I see." Rimmer took off his glasses, "Dr. Braun, I represent some people. Everything you've described about your research confirms what we have heard." He paused for a moment, "Perhaps we could help you with your funding?"
"That would be appreciated. Just who do you represent?"
"Some concerned men and women in Washington," he paused again, "and Israel."
Braun gave the man an odd look, "What does Israel want with my research?"
"Before I answer, we would very much prefer this information not leave this room."
"All right."
"Dr. Braun, we have been having some trouble with Iran. With rabid anti-Western factions now in control, they have been funding terrorist groups. We've already had one strike days ago where over a dozen were killed. And we have reason to believe another is planned for within the next several days. Unless something is done, they will continue their carnage."
"And what does my medical research have to do with this?"
"We believe it has, military, applications. You did say it was a virus."
"Sir, even if I was interested in developing a viral agent for a biological warfare weapon, you already have such things."
"Yes we have stockpiles of Bubonic Plague and Ebola, but that is not what this is about. I am not talking about biological warfare in the conventional sense. If all goes as planned, this weapon will not kill anyone."
"A bio-weapon that doesn't kill?" Braun looked somewhat puzzled, "What are you asking for?"
"Remember when you mentioned that girl thinking about getting your treatment for cosmetic features. This is something similar." Rimmer paused for a moment, "You do recall what the Middle East Islamic followers feel about pigs?"
"I know they're not supposed to eat pork."
"Yes, but it goes further than that. To them, pigs are about the lowest, most loathsome, animal there is: dirty, disgusting, and unclean. Some believe to simply eat pig meat is to endanger their souls."
Braun then began to realize what he was talking about, "You, mean - "
"We were hoping you could develop a form of your virus for us, a contagious one, that would not only inject pig DNA into cells, but modify the body to reflect the new genes."
Braun continued to stare at his visitor, speechless, for a few moments. Then, "Do you realize what you're asking me to do?"
"I am not going to sugar coat it, Dr. Braun. Pure and simple, this is a terror weapon. The problem is, we are dealing with very vicious and ruthless men. The only thing they understand is force. And unless forced to stop, they will continue to send their puppets to attack and kill. We could use more conventional means to retaliate, but civilians would inevitably die. Your research would give us an alternative."
"An alternative yes, but, my God, transforming people into what they hate the most? To some, this would be a kind of living death. I can't have any part in this!"
Rimmer looked at Braun, staring with an icy glare, "I do suggest you think this over. Remember, the idea in mind is to save lives in the end."
"Thank you for your offer, Mr. Rimmer." Braun's tone was more cold than mannerly, "But I can't accept it."
Rimmer put his shaded glasses back on, "The offer still stands. I'll give you another call in a few days. Perhaps," he paused, "you will have changed your mind."
"I doubt it."
Rimmer then turned and left the office, leaving Dr. Braun alone.
The doctor sat at his desk. He thought about the conversation that had just occurred. When that one researcher mentioned that half-serious suggestion his girlfriend made, everyone had a good laugh over it. It was crazy, but plausible.
Now, it wasn't so funny.
His dream, his idea, his cure was meant to help thousands, perhaps millions, and it was so casually proposed to be turned into something horribly nightmarish. Even this Rimmer himself freely admitted it was a "terror weapon. "
Braun thought about what this would mean. He had never thought about any dark side to his work, aside from the rare tragic accident that happened with so many initial tryouts with new treatments. Would he have put as much heart and work into this project if he had considered such things?
And if he was having doubts, what would those who were funding the project think if they considered this factor?
His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. He answered it, "Dr. Braun here."
"Hey Dad, it's me." spoke a young man.
"Johnny!" Dr. Braun smiled brightly, "How are you doing, son?"
"Just fine Dad. Italy's been a real blast, Rome, Naples, Sicily, you name it! I'll be on my way to Greece tomorrow, and thought I might give you a call."
"I'm glad you did."
"Thanks again for helping me out with this trip. With my own paycheck, I couldn't make it to Key West."
"No problem. A trip to Europe will do you good, see our civilization's roots." He smiled wider, "Who knows, maybe you'll find yourself a girl."
The younger man laughed, "Who knows."
The next day, Dr. Braun was in the laboratory with his colleagues. They were looking at samples in electron microscopes and going over results. Progress was going well.
While they were going over details, Braun was interrupted by a call on his cell phone, He answered, "Yes?"
"Dr. Braun," spoke a voice Braun recognized as a friend in a different department, "did you have a son on his way to Athens?"
"I did," Braun answered, "Why?"
For a few moments, his friend spoke nothing. Then, "You might want to turn on the TV."
There was a small color TV in the corner of the lab. Braun went over, turned it on, and put the dial on a news station.
The anchorwoman was talking about an airliner going from Sicily to Athens that had been hijacked, and ordered to fly to the airport in Beruit, Lebanon. Information on the hijackers was sketchy, but they were probably Arabic.
Just after the phone number for possible relatives of passengers to call was announced, the station cut to a broadcast of the airline coming down at an airport, the Beruit International Airport according to the anchorwoman. As it reached the runway, the airport's surroundings confirmed its location. The anchorwoman then stated the hijackers wanted a word with the press after it landed.
After the plane came to a stop, the reporters and cameramen at the airport went up to the plane. The airline's door opened, and a masked hijacker appeared. In English, spoken with a heavy Arabic accent, the hijacker made rhetorical comments about "The Great Satan America and the Zionist Entity's war against the Islamic Peoples" for a few minutes, and demanded the release of certain prisoners from Saudi, Kuwatti, and Jordanian jails.
He concluded, "And to demonstrate our willingness to take any action, we give you this American we found."
Two other masked hijackers brought forth a badly injured passenger, clearly in pain. His face was bloody and bruised, clearly the result of beatings, but Braun could recognize who it was by the eyes -
"Johnny!"
The first hijacker drew a pistol, then aimed it at the battered man's head, "This is an example of what we will do to any American we find."
The picture was cut off, but the sound clearly told what happened.
Hours later, Dr. Braun was in his office, sitting at his desk. Again and again, what had happened went through his mind. In just an instant, the most important thing in his life had been taken away - and for what?! He had lost his life to some maniac whom was little more than the dangerous pawn of some behind-the-scenes figure in some God-forsaken place.
I should never have let Johnny leave the country.
While he was thinking, the phone rang. He answered on the third ring, "Hello?"
"Dr. Braun," spoke a voice at the other end, "I heard about what happened. I'm truly sorry."
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman." Braun spoke slowly.
"We just finished discussing the funding for the advanced genetic engineering treatment." The man paused, which gave Braun a hint of what words would follow, "Considering the circumstances, it would be best if you had some time off, time to think things over."
Braun hesitated to answer, finally saying, "I understand."
"We'll review it again in a few months. I really do wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you."
The other man then hung up.
Braun sighed. At least the project would have allowed him to give his grief an outlet, to create a living memorial for his son.
Now, there was nothing.
About this time, there was a knock at the door. Braun, still depressed, took a couple seconds to answer, "Come in." He did not look up.
The door opened, and a man familiar to Braun entered.
"I heard what happened." Rimmer took off his shaded glasses, "From what the news reports stated about your son's background, he was a good man."
Braun was still not looking up, "And I suppose you're here to tell me 'I told you so. ' "
"No. You're a man of medicine, and I should have expected some reluctance to what I was proposing. I've been involved in anti-terrorism work for so long, I sometimes forget how people who haven't been marked by it are uneasy about, as one man put it, getting their hands dirty."
Braun gave no reply.
Rimmer walked up to the desk, "Dr, Braun, you have the power to stop these men. All you have to do is join us, and together, we will develop the weapon that will turn them into the monsters they are."
Braun looked up at Rimmer. Before, there was nothing he could have done. Now here was a chance to do something. Now was a chance to make his son's death mean something. Here was a chance to destroy those whom had destroyed his son.
"Mister Rimmer," there was no longer a hint of depression in Braun's face or voice, "you have yourself a deal."
The two men then shook hands.
The following day, Dr. Braun, now wearing a grayish business suit, took a cab to the airport. He had one hard plastic suitcase with him, one with a smaller compartment door on one side, just big enough for his laptop computer. Inside the airport, he met Rimmer. After their initial greeting, they both headed on.
"Did you get all the research data?" Rimmer asked.
"I did." Braun answered, "It's all in my computer."
"Amazing how all those statistics can fit in such a small container." Rimmer seemed unusually thoughtful.
"So where is this laboratory you said we were going to?"
"To an island off the east coast of Africa. The nation's government, or rather it's excuse for one, doesn't care what we do there, provided we make some foreign aid contributions to them."
"And the quality of the equipment?"
"Even better than what your backers here provided you with. Your new lab assistants will be competent, although not the scientists you had here. Will that be a problem?"
"I can work with that."
"Excellent."
Less than twenty-four hours later, Rimmer and Dr. Braun were at the island in question. Getting there by boat, they went to the main building, which was surrounded by several guardhouses. The place had living quarters for its people, including individual rooms for the more important ones such as the two new arrivals. It also had two dining areas, the smaller for top personnel, a recreation area, and of course the laboratory. As Rimmer had promised, it had the very best equipment.
Braun looked it over, and for the first time since the hijacking, a smile came to his face, "I've seen equipment like this before, but not all in one place."
Rimmer smiled as well, "So you find it to your satisfaction?"
"I find it very much to my satisfaction."
"Excellent. How soon can you start working?"
"Right now." Braun opened up the side compartment on his suitcase, took out the laptop computer and disks out, plugged into the lab mainframe, and after turning it on, began downloading the information.
"You seem quite eager to get started."
"I thought you told me this project was of top importance."
Rimmer smiled again, "As it is." He paused momentarily, "In a way, you are much like this equipment here; we try to get the best. But, machines know nothing of things like urgency. It is fortunate that you do." He then turned and walked to the door, "Most fortunate indeed." He then left.
Dr. Braun stopped to think. From the start, there seemed to be something disturbing about Rimmer to him, something that had made him less than easy in the first meeting. And now here he was, working for him.
Braun thought for a few moments. Had he truly made the right decision?
Then his thought turned to his son and the men who had murdered him. The anger drowned his doubts about Rimmer and turned him back to his task, the rage fueling his resolve to complete it.
He thought about how he would make those men suffer for what they did to his son. He swore to himself he would make them pay dearly.
Day after day, Dr. Braun worked away in the lab. He had a little help from his new assistants, but most of the research was done by him. Very little of his time, outside of sleep, was spent outside the lab. He took his meals there, and occasionally fell asleep in his chair after a late night.
For the first week, Rimmer dropped by every day to check on his progress. In the second week, it became about every other day. Braun didn't usually say very much, but always left the impression that progress was being made.
In the middle of the third week, Rimmer was a little less patient than usual.
"Can you at least give me an idea when the virus will be finished?" he asked.
Braun, who was looking over some notes, did not bother to look up, "Mister Rimmer, my research was still not yet complete when you came to me, and what you are asking requires even more complexity. Plus, I've been working for a cure for this as well. Your equipment is a big help, but that does not change the fact that I need time, time to try out calculations, to test out things on computer models and cell samples, to find out what went wrong, and then start over.
"I cannot say when this will be finished."
Rimmer spoke nothing right away, thinking, then asked, "How much time would be saved if you stopped work on the cure?"
Braun stopped working, and looked up to face Rimmer, "Out of the question. What happens to any hostages the terrorists might have, or, Heaven forbid, the virus spreads beyond the target areas?"
"Dr. Braun, we need this weapon. Since you started work, not only has there been another terrorist attack, one that killed over two dozen, but the hijackers that killed your son managed to get away."
"What?!"
"They turned themselves over to Lebanese authorities after Saudi Arabia and Kuwait agreed to make a sizable contribution to a so-called 'refugees fund.' Not long afterward, there was a prison break. The hijackers were among those who escaped, and the only ones to elude recapture."
Braun clenched his fist, his face showing his rage, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You never asked."
Braun's fists were now shaking, trembling with rage. He turned back around to the papers he was looking over.
"Mister Rimmer, among the reasons the virus is taking so long is the physical changes are going to be a bit more extensive than what the original could handle. While I could cut back on that, I certainly hope you will allow me to proceed as planned."
Rimmer was silent for a few moments, then responded, "I will let my associates know of your intentions." He turned and headed back to the door, "Proceed as you have been, and consider any silence on their part as an endorsement." He then left.
Braun's face continued to show his fury, "So Rimmer wants me to use the virus to change them into monsters," his fist continued to shake, "I'll give him monsters like he never imagined."
The weeks went by, with Dr. Braun continuing to spend nearly every conscious moment on his research. Rimmer would continue to check on him occasionally, and Braun continued to tell him little except progress was being made. Rimmer never pressed him again like that one other time.
Then one day, Braun gave Rimmer a call requesting he come over. Rimmer quickly came over, dressed in his usual black suit, and directed the assistants to leave, "I understand you wanted to see me, Dr. Braun."
"Yes." Braun answered, "The Proteus Virus is now complete."
Rimmer's expression showed some surprise, "It is? You could have mentioned earlier that you getting close."
"I felt some more tests had to be done to make certain, lest I disappoint you with false hopes." Braun then pointed out some computer screens, and showed some pictures showing the ability of the virus to replicate.
"As expected," Braun told Rimmer, "it is able to replicate for three days, then slows down until it virtually stops at the end of the fourth."
Rimmer seemed pleased, "How contagious is it?"
"Very contagious. It can be spread either through bodily fluids or airborne. The virus can last about six hours outside the body, several days if kept under the right conditions. A person becomes infectious within hours of exposure and continues to be for a week."
"Impressive." Rimmer smiled slightly, "And what of the results? How much will the infected change?"
Braun gave Rimmer a list of the physical changes, and he read it, going down the list.
Rimmer's smile grew wider, "I must congratulate you on your work. You are no less a genius than the men who developed the atomic bomb."
Braun was not smiling, "Of course, simple statistics cannot really compare to a visual depiction, such as this computer generated picture of a victim at the end of the week when the changes are complete." He handed Rimmer the picture.
Rimmer took the picture, and looking at it, his smile immediately disappeared. The man dressed in black appeared disturbed, almost shocked.
"Frightened, Mister Rimmer?" Braun's expression remained almost unchanged.
"Er, no." Rimmer regained his composure, "As you stated, nothing can compare to seeing to yourself."
"You ought to be. Worst of all, the brain isn't affected that much, at least not it's capacity for intelligence. Yes, the subject's IQ goes down some, but he's still very much aware of what has happened," he paused, "and what he has lost."
"I see." Rimmer looked again at the picture.
"If that isn't punishment, I don't know what is." Braun then pointed to another screen, "Fortunately, for any innocents who might get caught in the line of fire, I developed treatments. A sufficient amount of Interferon will stop this virus, but in order to reverse the effects I had to develop a counter-virus to eliminate the effects of the first. It takes time, several weeks for a fully altered person, but it's thorough.
Rimmer looked like he was about to say something, but was hesitant. Braun anticipated his question, "If you're wondering how much time I spent on that, a lot less time, and money, than you would be having to deal with the virus if it got out of control."
Rimmer hesitated to answer, then finally did, "Of course. I'm sure my associates will consider it time well spent." He then turned and walked to the door, "I hope you won't take my sudden departure as disrespect, but I better let them know you finally developed it." Rimmer then left.
For the first time in weeks, Braun finally had time to think things over. Thoughts that were full of doubts. He still wasn't a hundred percent certain he had done the right thing. Was Rimmer truly trustworthy? Would the cure work for everyone? Should such a horrible weapon be used at all?
Images of the evil the terrorists did, especially his son's death, then returned and temporarily swept aside his doubts. So what if Rimmer was no angel? The true horror of this weapon would be a loud and clear warning to those who would take up terrorism. And most of all, those who had killed his son would pay dearly.
But then the doubts returned.
Braun swept aside the doubts. The Proteus Virus was already done. Nothing else to do.
Some days later, enough virus had been manufactured to fill a large canister about the size of a scuba diver's tank. It was loaded onto a large boat. The crew were all also armed guards. Braun, with his suitcase, and Rimmer were also boarding. Braun also carried a small bottle, carrying the viral cure.
"So you insisted on coming along to witness our first operation?" Rimmer remarked to Braun as they walked down the dock.
"I did." Braun then asked, "You said we were making a strike against Iran?"
"Yes. There's a terrorist base near the coast, far from any village, and accessible only by boat or helicopter. All we have to do is destroy the docks, and no one can get in or out." He paused, "I can't say our target will include those terrorists who killed your son."
"No matter."
"No, then what could it - " Rimmer stopped, then smiled, "Ah yes, your sense of responsibility. Ever the good doctor, so you consider yourself."
Braun gave no immediate response.
"You needn't worry. And as for the chance that something could happen along the way, you'll be happy to hear this ship's hull, cabin walls, and windows are completely air-tight and bulletproof. All exits can be sealed from the bridge, which can also be sealed from the rest of the ship.
"Nothing can go wrong."
Braun didn't seem confident, "I've heard that before."
"Don't be so grim, Doctor. You should feel proud of yourself. Can you imagine how many would want to accomplish what you have.
"Mr. Rimmer, I didn't do this for fame, or for cash. I didn't do this for myself. I just want those who killed my son put to a stop, for good."
"I see."
The two men spoke nothing else as they boarded the ship and went in. Soon after, the boat departed.
For the next few days, the boat moved across the ocean. The virus canister was located in the room just behind the bridge, straight down from the doorway. There was little for Braun to do but walk around. He seldom talked to Rimmer. The guards themselves spoke nothing while he was around. For whatever reason, Braun had trouble sleeping at night. He attributed it to lingering doubts about his decision to create the virus.
During the third night, however, he didn't just have trouble sleeping, but an actual nightmare. In it, there were visions of men, women, and children becoming misshapen with the virus. In the dream, Braun rushed to his clinic, hoping to get the antidote, but when he got there, he found the place where he thought it was stored empty. And when he turned around, there were masses of deformed people, begging for help.
And in the middle of the crowd was a face, deformed but still familiar - his son.
At that moment, Braun woke up from the bed in his cabin in a cold sweat.
Braun promptly got up after turning on the lamp for some light, slapped on his clothes. What did this dream mean? Although a man of science, something deep within him told him this was some kind of warning. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he had to talk to Rimmer, to do something.
After getting dressed, he stepped out into the night air. He noticed they were very close to the shore. The moon was full, and there were some lights on the land. Looking on the other side of the boat, they were also close to the shore there.
Almost like they were on a canal.
"The Suez canal?" Braun thought aloud to himself, "That's in Egypt, nowhere near Iran. What the - "
He thought he heard some talking from the direction of the bridge. Quietly, he crept over, listening. He was soon able to make out Rimmer talking to someone over the radio. It soon became apparent the talk wasn't in English.
"You there! Hands up!"
Braun then noticed a guard had spotted him, and was pointing a pistol at him. After this moment of surprise, he realized while English, there was an accent, Russian.
"I said hands up!" the guard took aim.
Braun raised his hands.
Then there was another voice, both Russian in language and accent. It sounded like a certain person, and when the door to the cabin open the still speaking person emerged -
The man in the black suit, Rimmer.
"What's going on?" Braun asked him.
"What's going on," Rimmer, still with his accent, told him, "is our real mission." He paused for a minute, "We can take the rest of this conversation inside. It would look suspicious if blood was seen on the deck."
Braun was taken to the room just behind the bridge. Rimmer stood next to the doorway. The virus canister stood where it was on the other side of the room. And of course, there were several guards around.
"To begin with," the man told Braun, "my name is not John Rimmer, but Ivan Petrenov. After the collapse of my country, I had to find other work, as did my subordinates here." He gestured at the guards, "And our current employer in Baghdad wanted your virus."
"So you're not an operative, but some mercenary for hire. What do you plan to do with the virus? Hit some military base?"
"No: Tel-Aviv, Israel. My employer couldn't do much with simple Scud missiles years before. This should be more effective."
"Good God! You're going to infect thousands of innocent men, women, and children! Millions maybe! Why?"
"My employer's motivations are well known, so I assume you mean me. The casulty statistics do not interest me, only my payments in gold. If he wants to wipe out that tiny country, so be it."
"We're not just talking about one tiny country. It's neighbors will be hit too as the virus spreads."
"I overheard an aide of my employer ask that. He was told something about no mercy for collaborators, and the most loyal of his subjects could be moved to safety if the virus spread that far. But no matter. That is his problem, not mine. Once we release the virus and collect our pay, we will be far away."
Braun clenched his fists, "You vicious son of a b...."
Petrenov laughed, "You have no idea. The biggest irony of all is, you developed the virus to get the ones who eliminated your son, and here you are, having worked for the one who ordered it all this time."
Braun stared at him in disbelief, "You? "
Petrenov laughed again, "I persuaded some others under my employers payroll to do the job. I felt that would persuade you more than anything."
"You? You all this -" Braun's fist clenched and his face began to turn red as his rage bubbled.
Then at the corner of his eye, he saw a guard just a few feet away drawing a pistol from the inside of his jacket. In a near-instant, he turned and grabbed for it. The two men struggled for the gun as the other guards kept their weapons ready but held their fire out of fear of hitting their comrade.
Braun and the guard fought for the pistol, then the gun fired one round, then it fired one shot after another seven times. Both Braun and the guard stared at each other blankly -
Then the guard slumped to the floor, dead.
But he was not the only one hit.
Braun had taken a single wound to the abdomen, and was bleeding profusely.
Petrenov spoke some orders to the guards in Russian, who then lowered their weapons, then switched to English, "It would seem, Dr. Braun, that you have a problem. That wound looks painful, but you still have about a minute before you become weak from the loss of blood. The question is, what are you going to do? Those clips hold ten rounds, and eight bullets have been fired. What can you do with two bullets?"
Braun then took aim at Petrenov. The guards watched nervously, but did nothing but keep their guns ready. Apparently, Petrenov had told them to hold off.
The black-suited Russian then began backing up to the bridge, "Yes, you could finish me off if those bullets penetrate the bulletproof vest under my jacket. Even so, it will still not change the others from accomplishing our mission." he laughed, " Dr. Braun, you've lost."
Braun glared at him. Petrenov was right, even if he shot him, the guards would still be able to release the virus.
He then realized something.
Perhaps he could beat them with two bullets after all.
He stumbled into the bridge, leaving a trail of blood, still pointing the gun at Petrenov, who was near the instrument panel. Not far away was the exit to the deck. The guards did nothing, but stood where there were inside the next room. Petrenov smiled at him again, "Go ahead, shoot."
Braun stopped, and aimed his gun at Petrenov -
Then turned, took a quick aim into the room behind, then fired a single round into the virus canister. The shot penetrated the metal, and the hissing noise sounded the release of the virus.
Petrenov swore something in Russian, followed by, " You fool! You've doomed us all!" He immediately pressed a button, and an emergency door came down from the top of the doorway separating the bridge from the room behind, sealing it off. The guards, having overcome their shock of what just happened, then began screaming and pounding on the door.
Braun then moved to the control panel, keeping himself between Petrenov and the exit. He again pointed his gun at him, "Back up."
Petrenov did, "What are you doing?"
Not lowering his gun, Braun pressed several buttons, "I'm sealing off this ship. The virus and those contaminated will remain here until the period of infection is over."
Petrenov glared at him. He thought of charging him, then stopped. He figured even if this sample was gone, he could still use the research notes back at the lab to make more.
Braun then reached in a small door just under the control panel, about the size of a car's glovebox, and grabbed his laptop computer and the viral antidote, "In about ten seconds, this whole place will be sealed."
"Then I suggest we better leave, Dr. Braun."
"What do you mean 'we' ?" Braun then slightly changed his aim, then fired into Petrenov's shin.
The Russian screamed, then collapsed, clutching his leg. He then saw Braun hit the emergency release button for the door sealing the bridge from the room behind, " NEYT! "
"Oh yes, Petrenov." Braun then made his way out the exit.
Petrenov then began crawling to the open door, but he wasn't fast enough. The emergency door came down and sealed shut, trapping him in.
Petrenov gasped in horror, then heard the hissing noise of the other door's seal being released, and the panicked screaming guards broke it down and rushed in, and with them came a visible cloud of mist.
"NEYT! NEYYYYYYYYYT!!! "
Braun, having limped some distance away, leaving a trail of blood, looked back at the door. He could hear Petrenov's screams as the weapon he had intended to use on unaware innocents overtook him, very much aware.
He felt no elation at the man's fate. Somehow, his craving for revenge seemed so far away now. There was only the satisfaction of a job finished, mixed with the horror of what had nearly happened to millions.
"I'm sorry Johnny."
He then realized the job wasn't finished. There was still data in the mainframe at the base's lab.
He turned on his computer, and as the seconds went by while it went though it's startup programs, the weakened doctor slumped to a sitting position on the deck. Once ready, he turned on it's internal modem, and logged on. Once on the Internet, he accessed the mainframe, typed in the password, and was in.
With the keyboard getting stained from the blood of the fingers that had earlier been trying to hold his wound shut, Braun then ordered the mainframe to erase the files. The mainframe responded with a precautionary question, put up in case of an accidental request: DO YOU REALLY WANT TO ERASE THE DIRECTORY?
"Yes," Braun groaned as he read the statement, "I am sure I want to erase the files." He typed in the confirmation.
He got back, ARE YOU REALLY SURE?
"Dammit! Yes I am!" he punched it in again.
ERASING ....
Braun smiled, then turned to the contents of his own computer.
With a simple keystroke, he moved his viral files to the "trash," and ordered it deleted.
There was just one thing left to do.
Opening the "notebook," he began typing, talking aloud as he did, "Danger - To whom it may concern, (cough), this ship has been contaminated with a dangerous virus. Do not open for one week at least."
His vision then began to blur, and he started to weaken. He let the bottle of viral cure slip away, roll down the deck, and fall overboard.
It was no longer needed.
Braun sighed. For the first time since all this began, he finally felt a sense of relief.
"It's over Johnny. Rest in peace."
Braun leaned back against the wall, and a calm smile came to his face as his eyes closed for the final time.
"Johnny ... "
About a week later, the ship was in a dock at an Egyptian naval base. No other ships were at the pier it was on due to the sign that read "QUARANTINE" in Arabic. A group of men approached, some Egyptian, but most of them were Americans and there was one Israeli. All were wearing bio/chemical protection suits.
"So how did you find this ship?" one of the Americans asked.
"It beached itself in the Suez canal seven nights ago," one of the Egyptians answered, "When someone read the message in English left on the dead man's computer, we towed it here. Since the man was one of your scientists, we contacted you." He then glanced at the Israeli, "But why did you bring, that man?"
"Because our intelligence found evidence that some kind of terrorist attack was planned on Tel-Aviv," the Israeli answered, "And now this mystery ship with a mystery virus, along with the body of an American whose son lost his life to terrorists, shows up. This could be the group who was trying to make the attack as it's possible they may have decided to try biological weapons."
"But wouldn't the Palestinians and other neighbors be infected as well?" another American asked.
"Exactly." another Egyptian broke in, "I think the idea of this virus, if that's what it is, being used as a weapon is just paranoia on the Israelis' part."
"We'll discuss that later." the first American cut in, "Right now, let's just find out what's aboard this thing."
They then boarded the boat. A robot had finished cutting open the door to the bridge. The men then stepped inside. The bridge was devoid of anyone aboard, which combined with what they were told about the boat gave them an eerie feeling about the place.
One man then looked into the room just behind it, "Found something." The others went to him, and found the body of a man.
"Definitely didn't die of the plague. He's been shot multiple times."
"Look at this." One man pointed out a canister with the bullet hole. The area around the puncture did seem discolored.
"That may have been where the virus was stored." The Israeli spoke.
"We can test it to be certain." One of the Americans took an instrument and began checking it out.
"There's another two in here." The rest of the group went to the next room, and found two more bodies. Both had pistols in their hands, and a bullet wound each in their heads.
"These two committed suicide."
"There's another one in here." The men then went to the next room, and found another man who had committed suicide. This one had a paper tucked into his free hand.
One of the team took it and looked at it, "It's written in Russian."
"Let me read it." the Israeli took it and read it, " 'To whoever comes across this message, we have decided to take our own lives rather than fall victim to this virus. Save one, whom we have made certain he does not have that option due to his cowardice.' Yuri Putchnik. "
" 'Made certain?' " an Egyptian asked.
At that moment, there was a sound.
"What was that?" one of the team asked.
The sound appeared again, louder and longer.
"It sounded like some wounded animal."
"Someone survived. We better help him, he may still need help."
The team headed to the source of the sound. They went down further into the ship, passing more bodies - all suicides. Eventually, they came to a door locked shut by a padlock.
"It's loudest from here."
"Stand back." One of the team took a pistol from a nearby body, and shot the lock off.
"Hang in there," one of the Americans opened the door, "We're here to hel- "
He instantly fell silent as he and the others caught sight of what was inside. Several stepped back, including one of the Egyptians who invoked the name of Allah. One of the Americans muttered, "Oh - my - God."
The creature they saw drew back, wailing and trying to shield it's face. It was vaguely human shaped, but it was like a human body warped and twisted, it's facial features resembling something seen in a horror movie.
But the most frightening thing of all, it was wearing the remains of a black business suit.