That’s when Project Eden’s real work would begin, implementing plans for a reborn human civilization that would benefit from all the existing knowledge and technology without the pressures of an overpopulated world.
Project Eden would lead this new society.
And Perez would lead Project Eden.
Claudia, sitting at her desk at the other end of the converted conference room, said, “Forwarding you a new report from Choi in North Korea.”
Even before she finished speaking, Perez’s computer bonged with the incoming email. He read the report and smiled.
Getting shipping containers into North Korea had not been feasible, so, as with a few other places, one of the Project’s alternative methods had been employed. In this case, several airplanes had been painted to look like they were part of the Air China fleet. On the morning of Implementation Day, after the real Air China planes had been removed from the equation, these new aircraft took over the routes into North Korea, and began spraying the virus as soon as they crossed the border. It wasn’t quite the saturation level the containers could achieve, but, according to Choi’s report, it seemed to have done the job.
The planes had been sure to hit places where military and government officials would be. With the current Great Leader and all his colleagues falling ill or already dead, the country had become rudderless. If it weren’t for the fact that the disease had also taken hold among the general population, the people might have risen up and finally taken back their nation.
“Anything new on Russia?” Perez asked.
“Not since the last check-in.”
The outbreak in Russia had triggered a minor civil war, as several opposing factions saw it as their chance to seize control of the country. In the end, of course, they would all lose.
The phone rang and Claudia answered it. After a moment, she put her hand over the receiver and said, “Hendricks in Switzerland. He’d like to talk to you.”
Perez nodded and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Director Perez, I’m a bit worried. We’ve compiled the latest data here, and our infection rates are a good fifteen percent below those elsewhere.”
“You’ve double-checked the numbers?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid we were right about that storm.”
There had been a snowstorm covering most of Switzerland and part of northern Italy on Implementation Day. Hendricks and those he worked with had been concerned it would prevent the virus from gaining proper traction in the area.
Small setbacks like this were to be expected, though, and there were contingencies to deal with them.
“All right. What’s your weather like now?” Perez asked.
“Clear,” Hendricks reported. “But another storm is due in two days.”
Perez looked over at Claudia. “Inform Manfred he is a go for the flyover mission of sections seven and eight.”
“Yes, sir.” She picked up her phone and made the call.
To Hendricks, Perez said, “The dousing will begin as soon as it’s dark. Your levels should come up in another thirty-six hours. If they don’t, we’ll go again. Keep a close watch.”
“I will.”
The phone rang again.
“Philippe Soto,” Claudia announced after answering it. “Rio.”
Perez picked up his receiver. “Yes?”
“Director, we’ve had some problems at Angra.”
“What problems?”
Angra was the nuclear power plant outside Rio de Janeiro. It was Soto’s job to make sure all South American utility plants — such as hydroelectric and nuclear — were secure. There were similar missions on the other continents. The hope, which so far had proved to be true, was that most of these types of facilities would be either shut down or reduced to self-sustaining levels by the operators as it became clear their staffs were quickly dwindling. The Project Eden teams were supposed to jump in when that didn’t happen. The last thing they wanted was an infrastructure in chaos.
“The government dispatched an army unit to guard the reactors,” Soto said. “They’re entrenched inside the buildings surrounding both Angra 1 and 2, and don’t appear to have been infected.”
“There’s been no order to shut the reactors down?”
“No.”
“Can we make that happen?”
“Um, I don’t think there’s anyone in charge down here anymore.”
“What about facility personnel? How many do they still have on site?”
“That’s our biggest concern. We think only two. They might be able to keep things going, but if anything happens to them, the reactors will be on autopilot.”
An annoyance, but with the safety features built into nuclear facilities, there wasn’t likely to be any kind of disaster. So Perez knew Soto’s men could wait until the soldiers ran out of supplies and had to leave, but that would require the team to remain on site.
“I take it your men are needed elsewhere,” Perez said.
“They should be in Buenos Aires already,” Soto admitted.
“All right. You have my permission to leave Angra and come back later.”
“Thank you,” Soto said. “I’ll have them return as soon as possible.”
Perez hung up and turned his attention to other matters, not knowing that Mata had been in error. There were no facility personnel still in the Angra facility, and while the reactors did have all the standard safety protocols and equipment in place, not everything always worked as planned. Especially when the only people in the building were young soldiers whose level of fear was only going to increase when the alarms started sounding, prompting them to try to shut the reactor down themselves.
In forty-two hours, Angra 1 would go critical, rendering the entire area unapproachable. Three weeks later, Angra 2 would follow, and the coastline south of Rio de Janeiro would become uninhabitable for thousands of years.
13
There were two reasons why Nolan Gaines didn’t want to get up that morning. The first and most painful was that he’d watched his wife Wendy take her last breath the evening before.
It had been not long after eight. He had just put Ellie to bed. She was so exhausted from the excitement of the day, she had fallen asleep sitting up while playing with her new stuffed bear. After he tucked her in, he went into the bedroom to check on Wendy. One touch of her cheek was enough to send him into panic. Her skin was freezing. He was sure she was already dead, but soon realized her chest was still moving up and down. For about the millionth time that day, he called 911, and for the millionth time he received the same “all circuits are busy” message.
He crawled into bed behind her and hugged her tightly, hoping to pass on some of his warmth, but her temperature continued to plummet. He was stroking her face when he realized she had stopped breathing. He searched frantically for a pulse, but found none.
He’d never been trained in CPR, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He pumped her chest, willing her heart to beat again. It was no use. She was gone.
Instead of calling 911 this time, he called the main police number. No busy-circuits message, but no live operator either. Only voicemail.
He left a message with his name, address, the news that his wife had died, and that he didn’t know what to do. Drained of energy and with his head pounding, he dropped onto the living room couch and was soon asleep.