Reggie Waite had been working his way through some documentation — supposedly from NASA HQ, although he had good reason to think most of the updates were from someone over at Grissom City. The bureaucratic gobbletygook was just thick enough that his eyes were glazing over when his phone rang.
Who was calling at this hour? Had the materials he was reading been more engrossing, he would’ve been tempted to just let it go to voicemail. Right now, the distraction was actually welcome.
As soon as he answered, he was glad he had, because it was Barbie Thuc down at Medlab. “I just got some news. Apparently we’ve been wrong about the diablovirus being natural.”
He recalled the presentation, way back when this whole mess started. “So what happened to all those inefficient gene-complexes a lab wouldn’t have used?”
“Everyone in the field assumed a whole lot more competence on the part of the people doing the work. The information is pretty sketchy right now, but we may have found the laboratory where that thing was put together. Or at least what’s left of it after the fire that drew the authorities’ attention in the first place.”
“Crap.” Reggie could see some pretty bad implications. Especially if they still had live cultures in there… “Any information on who or where?”
“As I said, we’re still working on sketchy information. But we do know it was a cabin up in the Alps, an old royal hunting box from back before World War I that had apparently been abandoned for a while because it was just historical enough that no one wanted to tear it down, but not historical enough to get maintained. From what I’ve heard, it’s in an area where there’ve been a lot of the really crazy deep-ecology types, the sort who regard humanity as a plague upon the Earth, inherently destructive, that sort.”
“Ayup, I remember the business with that one cult that had all holed up and all got found dead. Was there ever a definite decision on whether they thought they were going to be the sole survivors but ended up dead because they couldn’t operate a wood stove properly, or if they were trying to commit suicide to go to some perfect evergreen paradise?”
“That’s been a long time, and I was busy enough that I really didn’t read up on the literature. But you’re right, that’s the same area, so it’s possible we’re dealing with an offshoot from that apocalyptic cult. Right now I’m hearing that the local police, or what’s left of them, are trying to find someone with the authority to deal with it. Personally, I’m thinking they ought to get hold of Voronsky. He’s the man with the chops to understand whatever can be recovered from the computers and hardcopy files, but I could see how it could be touchy diplomatic going to get the Russians involved in Central Europe.”
“Very true.” Reggie was old enough to remember the Cold War, when it looked like Europe would always be divided by the Iron Curtain. “Keep me posted as this thing develops. And put Autumn Belfontaine in the loop. This may be something we want to get out, especially if anyone up here would have the background to be of any use.”