And it wasn’t just the human race suffering. All over the country—the world—people were breaking into zoos, killing apes, monkeys, tarsiers, sloths—anything that looked faintly simian, apparently because the actual facts that gave rise to the term “Simian Flu” hadn’t traveled with the term.
He glanced over at Corbin, now on his third beer. If the apes really were carriers, then Corbin was the most likely of them to have been infected, although all of them had been near ape corpses. He had touched one.
Well, they would know in a day or two.
Across the room, Clancy abruptly started sobbing, and a moment later she ran from the room.
They had been watching American cable television, so there was next to nothing concerning the continent of Africa, much less his homeland, but later that night he went online to learn that fresh fighting had broken out in North and South Kivu, again shattering the region along tribal and ethnic divisions. He wondered how long it would be before the death toll from starvation, trauma, neglect, and lack of general healthcare would surpass that of the disease itself.
The 133 retrovirus was a hard, cold killer, but the human race was giving it a run for its money.
19
Dreyfus sat in the mayor’s chair for the first time, and reflected that nothing was ever what you expected.
He had believed he would one day sit here. He had worked for it. But the chair seemed somehow too big at the moment, and the warm hardwood walls too close. He thought of all of those who had been here before him, one of whom had lost his life in this very office. He wondered how he would be remembered, or even if he would be remembered.
“Okay,” he told Patel. “Bring him in.”
Patel opened the door, and a moment later Trumann Phillips walked in. Dreyfus did not offer him a seat. He preferred to leave him standing.
“Let’s cut through all the bullshit,” Dreyfus said. “Why did House bring you in?”
Phillips didn’t blink.
“I would prefer to answer that question with an attorney present,” he replied.
“Are you goddamn kidding me?” Dreyfus exploded. “Where do you think you are? The worst thing I could do to you right now is put you on the street. There’s a mob out there screaming for your blood. And if they don’t kill you, your goddamn Simian Flu will.”
“As you must know,” Phillips said, “I had no hand in the actual creation of the virus. I don’t even work for Gen Sys.”
“No, you work for Polytechnic Solutions, which owns Gen Sys. You’re their cleanup man.” He leaned forward and studied a report on his desk. “Yes, I’ve done some research on you. You have a sterling record for ‘fixing’ things. Kuantan, Malaysia, 1997, you ‘fixed’ a toxic chemical dump that was poisoning the drinking water of thousands of people. Except ten years later the dump was still there, and the people had mysteriously moved elsewhere, or just—hey!—vanished.
“Or that thing in Bangladesh. The alleged malfeasance in Iraq by Anvil, all of the witnesses unfortunately slain in a roadside bomb attack. You were involved in all of that, and I’m sure you know I could go on.”
“And as you must know,” Phillips said, “I’ve never been indicted for anything. Because I’m not guilty of anything.”
“No, you’re just the kind of guy who gets away with things. Until now. Now that we know what to look for, we’ve got connections between you and House going back twenty years, when he was an assistant DA. You’ve been fattening him up for a long time, and it finally came time for you to slaughter the pig. You convinced him to let you handle the situation. To keep everything quiet.”
“I—” Phillips began, but Dreyfus held up a hand to stop him.
“Just answer the question,” he said. “Why were you brought in?”
Phillips hesitated for a moment.
“You know why,” he said.
“I want to hear it from you.”
“We needed to contain the situation,” Philips finally said. “Our first priority was to keep secret the fact that Gen Sys created the virus. At that point we had no way of knowing how bad it was going to turn out to be. The hope was that by the time anyone found out, if they ever found out, we would have worked out a cure. And for that we needed apes infected with the virus.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t kill them. We need to know why.”
“Why not infect another captive ape?”
“It’s not that simple,” Phillips said. “In humans, the virus mutates. Apes can’t get it from us. And we don’t have access to any of the original serum.”
“So you’ve really been trying to catch apes.”
“And keep the particulars… insulated. My people haven’t been allowed contact with anyone outside. At least not until you put them at their liberty.”
“You found them, I understand. Why didn’t you follow through?”
“Everyone was paying too much attention to us. There were protesters outside our perimeter. We shut down, hoping things would go quiet.”
“Can you still do it?”
The change that came over Phillips’s face at that moment was subtle, but Dreyfus saw it. The man was just realizing that this conversation wasn’t about what he had thought it was.
“I’m sure we can,” he said. “With a little help.”
Dreyfus thought about that for a moment.
“What else would you need to make this work?”
“Enough men to actually encircle the beasts—that would be nice,” Phillips said. He was beginning to radiate confidence.
“That’s going to be tough, given that every able body on the force, in the Guard, and in the reserves is already on task somewhere.” Dreyfus sat back. “Still, if I sell it right, I think I can get the governor to commit more National Guard. But I need to know you won’t screw it up this time. That you’ll get it done.”
“I’ll get it done,” Phillips replied. “But I want something in return.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Dreyfus said. He leaned forward again. “I want you to understand something. I don’t like you, Phillips. I would love to see you burn. But if there is a chance to stop this disease, we’re going to take it, and you’re what I have. You and your team already know the situation. If you get this right, I might just be able to rewrite history enough to keep you from being torn limb from limb by an angry mob.”
Phillips lips twisted into a faint, sardonic smile.
“That’s the best deal I’ve heard today.”
“It’s the best deal you’re going to get,” Dreyfus said. “The next best deal—you wouldn’t like that very much.”
“Well, then. Shall we shake on it?”
“I’d rather not,” Dreyfus said. “I feel dirty enough just talking to you.”
Phillips didn’t look pleased—he clearly wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in this manner.
“There are some details of the plan—” he began.
“I know all that I want to know,” Dreyfus interposed. “Get some of those things alive. I don’t care how you do it. And just to make it clear, I don’t want anything from Anvil, or Gen Sys, or anyone else involved in this. Just do your job and quietly go away. I have enough to deal with.”
Koba stared up at the moon. He worried about it sometimes, worried that it might fall on him, fall on all of them. Fall on Caesar. He couldn’t see what kept it up.
Until Caesar led him into the woods, he had never seen the moon.
Koba wakes and he is not in the sky. He is on something cold.
He is in a cage again, but it is not Tommy’s cage. This cage does not force him to stand up, but the floor is hard, and gritty, and cold. The cage is also not very big. He looks around for Milo, but doesn’t see him anywhere. There is something in the next cage. He signs at it, but it looks at him blankly, and he realizes it is a big caterpillar.