Space Group: P21 20 21
Unit cell:
dim: a 60.34 b 52.02 c 44.68
angles: alpha 90.00 beta 90.00 gamma 90.00
Polymer chains: 156L Residues: 144
Atoms: 1286
So there you have the twisted puzzle. As I value your expertise, Dr. O’Brien, I would appreciate your thoughts, opinions, or judgments before promoting this radical theory.
Sincerely,
Xavier Reynolds, Ph.D.
“A prion.” Lauren touched the diagram of the molecule. Could this indeed be the cause?
She pondered the possibility. The word prion was scientific shorthand for “proteinaceous infectious particle.” The role of prions in disease had only been documented within the last decade, earning a U.S. biochemist the 1997 Nobel Prize. Prion proteins were found in all creatures, from humans down to single-celled yeast. Though usually innocuous, they had an insidious duality to their molecular structure, a Jekyll-and-Hyde sort of thing. In one form, they were safe and friendly to a cell. But the same protein could fold and twist upon itself, creating a monster that wreaked havoc on cellular processes. And the effect was cumulative. Once a twisted prion was introduced into a host, it would begin converting the body’s other proteins to match, which in turn converted its neighbors, spreading exponentially through the host’s systems. Worse, this host could also pass the process to another body, a true infectious phenomenon.
Prion diseases had been documented both in animals and man: from scabies in sheep to Creutsfeldt-Jacob disease in humans. The most well-known prion disease to date was one that crossed between species. Dr. Reynolds had mentioned it in his letter: bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or more commonly, mad cow disease.
But these human diseases were more of a degenerative nature, and none were known to be transmitted so readily. Still, that did not rule out prions as a possibility here. She had read research papers on prions and their role in genetic mutations and more severe manifestations. Was something like that happening here? And what about airborne transmission? Prions were particulate and subviral in size, so since certain viruses could be airborne, why not certain prions?
Lauren stared at the modeled protein on the computer screen and reached for her desk phone. As she dialed, an icy finger ran up her spine. She prayed her former student was mistaken.
The phone rang on the other end, and after a moment, it was answered. “Dr. Reynolds, proteonomics lab.”
“Xavier?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dr. O’Brien.”
“Dr. O’Brien!” The man began talking animatedly, thanking her, thrilled.
She cut him off. “Xavier, tell me more about this protein of yours.” She needed as much information from him as possible, the sooner the better. If there was even a minute possibility that Dr. Reynolds was correct…
Lauren bit back a shudder as she stared at the crablike molecule on her computer monitor. There was one other fact she knew about prion-triggered diseases.
There were no known cures.
9:18 A.M.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Nate looked over Olin Pasternak’s shoulder. The CIA’s communications expert was growing ever more frustrated with the satellite computer system. Beads of sweat bulleted his forehead, both from the morning’s steaming heat and his own consternation.
“Still no feed…goddamn it!” Olin chewed his lower lip, eyes squinting.
“Keep trying,” Frank urged on the other side.
Nate glanced to Kelly, who stood beside her brother. Her eyes were haunted and dull. Nate had heard various versions of last night’s attack: the strange swarm of giant locusts attracted to the camp by the burning Ban-ali marker. It was too horrible to imagine, impossible, but Jorgensen’s death made it all too real.
Once the entire group had been reassembled at the swamp-side camp last night, the Ranger team had remained on guard. The group kept a posted watch throughout the night, in and around the surrounding forest, alert for any danger, watchful for any flare of flames, ears keened for the whine of locusts. But nothing happened. The few hours until dawn had been uneventful.
As soon as the communication satellite was in range, Olin had set about trying to reach the States and to relay messages to the Wauwai field base. It was vital to radio the change in plans to all parties. With unknown hunters dogging their trail, it was decided to continue with the goal of rafting across the swamp. Captain Waxman hoped to get a couple of days’ jump on his pursuers, leave their trackers traipsing around the swamp on foot. Once across, Waxman would keep a constant watch on the waters for any Ban-ali canoes and keep the group intact on the far shore until the evac helicopter could arrive. He planned to trade each civilian with another Ranger from the field base at the mission. With these new forces, he would continue on Gerald Clark’s trail.
There was only one problem with his plan.
“I’m gonna have to rip the laptop down to the mother-board,” Olin said. “Something is damnably fritzed. Maybe a faulty chip or even a loose one knocked out of place by the manhandling these past two days. I don’t know. I’ll have to tear it down and check it all.”
Waxman had been speaking with his staff sergeant, but he overheard Olin. The captain stepped nearer. “We don’t have time for that. The third raft is ready, and it’ll take a good four hours to cross the waters. We need to get moving.”
Nate glanced to the swamp’s edge and saw four Rangers positioning the newly constructed raft so that it floated beside the two prepared last night. The additional raft was necessary to carry everyone in their expanded party.
Olin hovered over his computer and satellite dish with a small screwdriver. “But I’ve not been able to reach anyone. They won’t know where we are.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. His features were pale.
Zane stood, shifting his feet uneasily and rubbing at a Band-Aid on his cheek that covered a locust bite. “We could send someone back and retrieve Jorgensen’s pack with the military radio,” he suggested.
Everyone began talking at once, arguing both sides.
“We’d lose another day waiting.” “We’d risk more of our people.” “We need to reach someone!” “Who knows if his radio will even work, what with all those locusts. They could’ve chewed through the wiring and—”
Waxman interrupted, his voice booming. “There is no reason to panic!” He directed his comment to all of them. “Even if we can’t raise the outside, the field base knows our rough location from yesterday’s report. When the Brazilian evac copter comes tomorrow as previously arranged, we’ll hear it—even from across the swamp. We can send up orange smoke flares to draw their attention to our new location.”