Falcon had taken down his usual diagrams, charts, and work sheets. For the moment he’d rolled them into tubes, fastened them with rubber bands, and leaned them into the corner at the foot of his bed. In their place, he’d covered his bedside wall with white butcher paper and, using his felt-tip pens, had begun organizing all they knew about Skientia.
“So, what are we missing?”
“Sorry, Captain,” Major Marks returned gruffly. “But you’re the brains here.”
“Ah, if it’s brains we need, why am I wasting my time with you? Theresa’s intellect would have been a great deal more help, especially given her statistical abilities when it comes to systems theory.”
“Oh, sure, you never can find that skinny little cun—”
“Don’t use that word in my presence, Major!” Falcon extended a quivering index finger to emphasize his point. “And especially don’t use it when you’re talking about Theresa. Doing so reflects only your own bias, ignorance, and inability to deal with modern realities. I’ve a mind to turn Chief Raven loose on both you and Rudy. See how long your crude behavior survives in her presence.” He narrowed his eyes as he glared into Major Marks’ steely gray eyes.
The major grunted to himself, gaze sliding off to one side. “Should have kept my grub-hole closed.”
“Or thought first,” Falcon agreed, glancing back at the lines, writing, and figures on his wall. From left to right on the X axis, he and Major Marks had laid out the events as they understood them. On the Y axis they had listed the facts and characteristics of Gray, Skientia, Fluvium, and the Egyptian tomb, and their current operations.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Probably your beloved Theresa, finally freeing herself from her womanly responsibilities.” Major Marks glowered as he inspected his right thumbnail with a critical eye.
“Come in,” Falcon called, ignoring the major. The man always fumed after a rebuke.
The knock had sounded like Theresa’s, but it was Cat Talavera, followed by Edwin Jones, who entered.
“Yo, Falcon,” Edwin greeted. “Cat’s back. Wanted to see you first thing.” He started for the recliner.
Falcon pointed to the foot of the bed. “Sit there, if you would, Edwin. The major’s in a rather irritable mood today. He’s liable to bite your head off if you try to move him from his favorite chair.”
Edwin shot a wary look the major’s way and barely swerved in time to keep from clipping the major’s feet. Nevertheless, he seated himself on the corner of the bed, staring up at the intricate notes on the wall and whistling softly.
Falcon pulled out the desk chair for Cat. “You look absolutely exhausted, Cat.”
She placed a black, durable-looking case on the desktop. “It’s in here. I’m still not sure that I shouldn’t have destroyed it.” She tapped her slim fingers on the tough plastic. “If this gets out . . .”
Falcon nodded. “I understand. And should circumstances dictate, we’ll do exactly what you recommend. I’ve been keeping up with your notes. It’s a cyanobacterium called Oscillatoria fracta—an algae that grows in long threadlike strands of cells. Different species of it are found all over the world. What makes this one so terrifying?”
“An extra couple of genes.” Bruised darkness formed half-circles beneath Cat’s bloodshot eyes. “Falcon, I analyzed the coding. Currently, the genes in Fluvium’s Oscillatoria algae are methylated, turned off, if you will.”
“So what’s the deal?” Edwin barely masked his concern for Cat.
“I worked it out on the way down here from the lab,” she told him. “Under certain conditions, the algae literally explodes with growth. When it does, it will turn the water that it grows in red, or sometimes even bloodred. When that happens, the epigenetic controllers will demethylate the two genes I’m concerned about. They will begin manufacturing a protein called ‘anatoxin-a.’ Or, at least, that’s the closest thing we have to it in the catalog. The protein Fluvium’s algae produces is a little different, having an extra hydrogen, which allows it to slip more easily through the gut wall and into the bloodstream.”
“And what does it do?” Edwin asked.
Cat tensed. “The first microbiologists who worked with it in mice called it VFDF.”
“So it got its own volunteer fire department?”
In the recliner, Major Marks gave the lanky computer whiz a disgusted roll of the eyes.
Cat said softly, “That stands for ‘Very Fast Death Factor.’ It acts directly on the nerve cells. The first symptoms are loss of coordination, spasms and convulsions, followed immediately by a seizure of the lungs. The way it works, anatoxin-a slips into the receptor that triggers a muscle cell to contract. Normally this is done by something called acetylcholine, which then rapidly degrades in the presence of cholinesterase. When that happens, the muscle goes back to resting. Anatoxin-a triggers the muscle to contract, essentially forever. Breathing requires that the muscles in your chest relax long enough for you to expand the ribs.”
“What about the levels of toxicity?” Falcon asked.
“That’s the thing. That extra hydrogen atom ensures that most of the toxin ingested will be absorbed. And the fact that the algae has two sets of the gene that produces the toxin?” She shook her head. “I’d swear this stuff has been weaponized.”
“Can you make an antidote?” Edwin asked.
She rubbed her eyes, as if to clear her vision. “I don’t know. Probably. If I had enough time and a good lab. Structurally, it’s a bicyclic amine alkaloid. Very similar to cocaine in morphology. That extra hydrogen would act to increase its half-life in the body, but I’d have to do a lot more work to determine how much.”
“Better to attack the algae itself?” Falcon asked.
“Maybe.” She stared dully at the black plastic case. “My brain has turned to cotton, Falcon. Let me get a couple of hours sleep . . . think about it.” She rubbed her face again. “But I can tell you this, when this stuff has a major bloom, and those two sets of genes kick in, about all that algae does is turn red, grow like an explosion, and pump out buckets and buckets of death.”
“So why was Fluvium clutching a bottle of this stuff to his chest?” the major asked, his jaw cocked combatively. “Where’d he get it?”
“And more to the point,” Falcon challenged him. “As problematic as the origins of weaponized algae in ancient Egypt might be, just what was he planning on doing with it?”