Though the future uses were interesting, Dwyer was not concerned with that. He was more concerned with the present. Naturally occurring buckyballs had been found in the location of meteorite craters. When these samples had been examined, both argon and helium gases had been found in the hollow area of the spheres.
Dwyer pondered this for a moment.
First he imagined two geodesic domes placed together to form an orb the size of a kick ball, or about the same size as the meteorite in the photograph. Then he imagined the void inside filled with gases. Next he imagined piercing the orb with a skewer or lopping off the top with a sword. Whatever gas inside would leak out. Then what? Helium and argon were harmless and existed in abundance in nature. But what if these gases contained something else? Something not of this world?
Opening the telephone directory inside his computer, he located a number and entered the command for the computer to dial. Once the computer signaled the line was ringing, Dwyer reached over and picked up his phone.
Across the country, three time zones distant, a man walked toward his ringing phone.
“Nasuki,” a voice answered.
“Mike, you old hack, this is TD.”
“TD, you Mensa reject you, how’s the spy game?” Nasuki asked.
“I’d tell you, but it’s so secret I’d have to kill myself.”
“That’s secret,” Nasuki agreed.
“I have a favor to ask,” Dwyer said.
Miko “Mike” Nasuki was an astronomer with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration. NOAA is a division of the Commerce Department. The agency had a broad base to conduct scientific research, though they usually worked with hydrography.
“Is this a no one should know we had this conversationfavor?”
“That’s right,” Dwyer said, “all hypothetical and off the record.”
“All right,” Nasuki said, “let me have it.”
“I’m looking into meteorites and particularly the formation of buckyballs.”
“That’s right up my alley,” Nasuki said, “cutting-edge stuff.”
“Have you ever heard any theories about the makeup of the gases inside the spheres themselves?” Dwyer said carefully. “Perhaps why helium and argon are prevalent?”
“Mainly, those are the most common gases that would occur on another planet.”
“So,” Dwyer noted, “the potential is there for the inside of the balls to be filled with other substances. Things not normally found on earth.”
Nasuki thought for a moment. “Sure, TD. I attended a symposium a few months ago where someone presented a paper that made the argument that the dinosaurs had been wiped out from a virus from space.”
“Brought in by a meteorite?” Dwyer asked.
“Exactly,” Nasuki said. “There is one problem, however.”
“What’s that?”
“A meteorite sixty-five million years old has yet to be discovered.”
“Do you remember any details about the theory?”
Nasuki searched his memory. “The gist was that extraterrestrial microbes inside the helium were released on impact, and those that didn’t burn up poisoned the life that existed at that time. There were two major points,” Nasuki continued. “The first was that the microbes were a fast-spreading virus like a super-flu, SARS, or AIDS that attacked the dinosaurs physically.”
“What was the second?” Dwyer asked.
“That whatever was trapped inside the helium actually changed the atmosphere itself,” Nasuki said, “perhaps altered the molecular structure of the air itself.”
“Like what?” Dwyer asked.
“Depleted all the oxygen, that sort of thing.”
“So the dinosaurs actually choked to death?” Dwyer asked incredulously.
Nasuki gave a low chuckle. “TD,” he said, “it’s just a theory.”
“What if a meteorite formed primarily of iridium existed in a complete form,” Dwyer asked, “not shattered by impact?”
“Iridium, as you know, is both extremely hard and relatively radioactive,” Nasuki said. “It would make an almost perfect delivery system for a gas-borne pathogen. The radiation might even mutate the virus and change it. Make it stronger, different, whatever.”
“So,” Dwyer said, “it’s possible a mutant virus from millions of years and a billion miles away could be contained inside the molecules?”
“Abso-freaking-lutely,” Nasuki said.
“I’ve got to go,” Dwyer said quickly.
“Somehow,” Nasuki said, “I knew you were going to say that.”
20
AT ABOUT THEtime Cabrillo had touched down in Greenland, two men met in an abandoned waterfront building in Odesa, Ukraine, half a world away. Unlike the Hollywood staged switches, where teams of armed men converge on an area to switch cash for munitions, this gathering was decidedly less exciting. Just a pair of men, one large wooden crate, and one large black nylon bag containing the payoff.
“Payment is mixed like you requested,” one of the men said in English, “greenbacks, British pounds, Swiss Francs and Euros.”
“Thanks,” the second man said in Russian-accented English.
“And you had the records changed to show that this weapon was secretly sold to Iran in 1980?”
“Yes,” the second man answered. “From the old communist government to the radical Khomeini forces that overthrew the shah, with the money from the sale being used to fund the Russian occupation of Afghanistan.”
“The trigger?”
“We included a new one in the box.”
“Mighty white of you,” the first man said, smiling. He reached over and shook the second man’s hand. “You have that number to call if there is any trouble.”
“I will,” the second man said.
“You’re leaving the Ukraine, right?” the first man asked as he slid the crate along a roller ramp into the rear of a one-ton truck.
“Tonight.”
“I’d get far away,” the first man said as he pulled down the truck door and secured the latch.
“Australia far enough?”
“Australia would be just fine,” the first man said.
Then he walked to the front of the truck, climbed into the seat, shut the door and started the engine. Less than an hour later at a different dock the crate was loaded aboard an old cargo ship for the transit of the Black Sea—the first leg of a much longer journey.
AFTER LEAVING ODESA, the Greek cargo ship Larissabobbed on the swells as she steamed east through the Mediterranean. To the starboard, the rocky cliffs of Gibraltar rose into the sky.
“Dirty fuel,” the grubby mechanic said. “I cleaned the filter and it should be okay now. As for the clunking, I think that’s just piston slap. The diesels need rebuilding, badly.”
The captain nodded and puffed on an unfiltered cigarette, then he scratched his arm. A rash had started forming off Sardinia that now extended from wrist to elbow. There was little the captain could do—the Larissawas still fourteen hundred miles and four days from her destination. He stared up as a large oil tanker passed alongside, then reached over and opened a jar of petroleum jelly and slathered some on the raw skin.
His deadline for delivering his mysterious cargo was New Year’s Eve.
Now that the fuel problem was solved, he was starting to feel he’d make the London deadline. Once there, his plan was to make the delivery, drink in the New Year at a waterfront bar, then locate a doctor the following day to look at the rash.
The man had no way of knowing the next doctor he’d see would be a coroner.