jefflong.yearzero-第25部分

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　WITH　A　SLOW；　WIDEU…TURN；　Nathan　Lee　left　the　massacre　behind。　That　night　he　covered　more　territory　than　in　the　entire　last　month。　He　reached　Shigatse；　and　it　was　a　sprawling　necropolis；　bodies　everywhere。　A　great；　intricate　monastery　stood　like　a　gravestone　above　the　city。　He　didn't　stop。　There　was　nothing　for　him　here。　On　the　outskirts；　he　passed　a　fuel　station；　and　it　had　been　blown　up。
　The　road　forked　north　and　turned　to　dirt　again。　He　made　another　two　hundred　kilometers　by　dark；　then　made　a　fire　and　brewed　tea　and　slept　a　few　hours。　Over　the　ing　days；　he　passed　other　massacre　sites。　Solitary　vehicles　appeared　in　the　distance　like　far　islands；　but　on　investigation　they　were　generally　mangled　and　scorched　black　from　explosives　or　strafing。　The　Chinese　had　killed　everything　that　moved。
　Day　after　day；　he　followed　empty　roads。　He　passed　lakes　like　mirrors；　and　mountains　spalled　with　light；　and　prayer　flags　on　thin　wands　in　the　middle　of　nowhere。　The　world　loomed　large。　Every　day　he　felt　smaller。　He　visited　a　monastery；　and　the　prayer　hall　was　neatly　lined　with　skeletons　in　robes；　some　still　sitting。　Another　time　he　found　a　herd　of　wild　horses；　hounded　by　some　pilot　and　felled　with　an　orange　cylinder　of　nerve　gas。
　He　entered　Mongolia；　pausing　at　the　empty　border　station　to　stamp　another　souvenir　visa　in　his　book。　At　night　he　saw　missiles　streaking　back　and　forth　beneath　the　stars。　Even　faced　with　the　end　of　the　world；　old　empires　were　using　up　their　arsenals　to　settle　old　scores。　Nathan　Lee　was　glad　to　be　in　no…man's…land。
　At　the　end　of　December；　his　truck　bogged　in　a　dune　of　voluptuous　red　sand。　He　wasted　a　day　trying　to　dig　it　free；　then　resigned　himself　to　traveling　by　bike　again。。。only　to　find　a　brand　new　Land　Rover　waiting　on　the　far　side　of　the　dune。　Its　engine　came　to　life　after　he　unbolted　the　truck's　battery　and　carted　it　across　the　sand　and　hooked　up　the　jump　cables。　A　second　and　third　day　went　into　slogging　back　and　forth　with　fuel；　food　and　gear　to　his　new　rig。　On　his　last　trip；　the　dune　was　swallowing　his　old　truck。
　The　Land　Rover　proved　faster　and　more　nimble　than　the　truck。　It　set　a　new　precedent；　as　well。　No　more　nursing　the　beast　along；　he　drove　hard　and　changed　vehicles　without　hesitation；　taking　another　Land　Rover；　then　a　minibus；　then　another　truck。　The　weeks　passed　and　he　grew　lost；　though　that　wasn't　exactly　true。　It　didn't　matter　that　his　Bartholomew's　map　no　longer　worked。　He　had　a　pass　and　his　journal；　a　direction　and　a　past。
　Somewhere　in　Siberia　it　had　to　be；　he　came　to　a　bridge　just　at　dusk。　His　only　warning　of　danger　was　a　car　lying　on　its　top　like　an　upended　turtle。　Something　had　flipped　it　upside　down。　Land　mines；　he　registered；　and　hit　the　brakes。　An　instant　later　his　windshield　shattered；　and　the　sniper's　gunshot　reached　him　from　across　the　water。
　Nathan　Lee　crawled　from　the　passenger　side；　taking　only　his　book　and　the　bag　of　gold。　He　hid　in　a　marsh　until　darkness；　then　crept　to　a　river。　Ice　lined　the　banks；　but　by　tossing　twigs　out　onto　the　water　he　was　able　to　figure　which　way　it　ran　and　followed　the　current。　He　had　no　idea　of　the　river's　name。　But　the　sea　was　inevitable。
　
　9
　After　Hours
　
　LOSALAMOS
　JANUARY
　Golding　entered　unannounced　in　the　middle　of　the　night。　Two　months　had　passed　since　her　last　visit　to　see　Miranda。　There　was　no　more　prolonging　this。　Alpha　Lab　had　run　amok。　The　lab…the　project　in　its　entirety…had　to　be　decapitated。　Cavendish　had　to　go。
　She　advanced　down　the　hallway；　trundling　her　little　oxygen　set　behind　like　a　pet　on　wheels。　At　times　like　this；　she　longed　for　her　husband　Victor。　The　nasal　cannula　dangling　over　each　ear　made　her　feel　conspicuous　and　vulnerable　and　old。　She　wanted　to　appear　manding　tonight。　But　of　late；　her　doctors　insisted。　They　didn't　like　her　traveling　at　all；　much　less　above　sea　level。Los　Alamos　is　going　to　mug　you　someday。　But　this　needed　doing。　And　so　she　was　going　into　battle　dangling　plastic　tubes　and　carting　her　air；　alone　and　on　her　own　authority。
　None　of　the　other　regents　knew　she　was　ing。　A　simple　majority　could　have　stopped　her；　but　they　were　in　disarray；　the　universities　on　a　virtual　war　footing；　teetering　on　a　statewide　shutdown。　Parents　had　yanked　their　children　from　schools　at　every　level。　Teachers　taught　via　the　net；　if　at　all。　Fear　was　consuming　knowledge　just　when　knowledge　was　needed　most。　No　one；　it　seemed；　was　watching　over　Cavendish；　no　one　but　her。
　She　could　have　terminated　Cavendish　by　phone　or　registered　letter；　or　summoned　him　to　her。　But　Cavendish's　minions　and　collaborators　needed　to　be　taught　a　lesson　right　here　on　the　turf　he'd　seized。　It　wasn't　just　Alpha　Lab。　With　biofast　research　overtaking　Los　Alamos；　the　whole　place　was　barreling　out　of　control。　Those　who　didn't　like　the　new　direction　or　objected　to　the　ethical　breakdown　had　exited　the　Lab　in　droves；　leaving　the　renegades　with　greater　autonomy。　An　example　had　to　be　made。
　The　Corfu　pandemic　could　not　have　broken　out　at　a　better　time　for　Cavendish。　As　the　mysterious　contagion　spread；　panic　had　ripped　apart　the　fabric。　Europe　was　balkanizing　and　in　shock。　Africa　was　dead。　Officials　in　Washington　demanded　a　cure；　or　at　least　a　genetic　bomb　shelter　for　the　American　people。　Cavendish　had　offered　himself　as　the　man　of　the　hour。　He　promised　the　moon。　His　credibility　lay　in　his　incredibility。　His　human　clone…still　considered　a　top　secret；　but　regularly　introduced　to　visiting　VIPs…was　walking；　talking　proof　of　Cavendish's　ability　and　daring。Thank　god　for　his　arrogance；　she　thought。　He　had　stolen　Miranda's　thunder；　elbowed　her　aside　pletely；　and　that　was　all　for　the　better。　Miranda　could　still　be　spared。
　Despite　Golding's　efforts　to　curb　or　block　Cavendish's　spending；　money　had　continued　to　flow　to　him。。。at　least　while　there　was　such　a　thing　as　money。　For　a　time；　his　burn　rate…the　speed　with　which　he　burned　up　money　on　purchases…had　rivaled　some　of　the　greats：　interferon　research　as　AIDS　caught　on；　the　Apollo　space　program；　R&D　for　Star　Wars。　There　was　apparently　no　ceiling　to　his　expenditures；　because　technically　the　money　had　not　existed。　Somehow　he'd　convinced　the　administration　to　label　the　virus　hunt　a　black　project。　That　meant　funds　poured　in　from　discretionary　accounts　the　Congressional　bean　counters　would　never　lay　eyes　on。　He　spent　with　a　vengeance　bordering　on　contempt。　Ironically；　his　expenditures　bolstered　his　reputation　as　The　Man。　Thrift　would　have　undermined　his　promises　of　a　cure。
　His　multibillion…dollar　shopping　spree　included　everything　from　petri　dishes　to　Cray　puters　to　the　construction　of　state…of…the…art　level…4　Bio　Safety　Labs。　With　walls　two　feet　thick；　BSL…4's　were　the　most　exclusive　zoos　in　the　world；　reserved　for　the　most　lethal　microbes；　from　Ebola；　Machupo；　hantaviruses；　and　now　the　meta…outbreak　of　Corfu。　Until　eight　months　ago　only　a　half　dozen　BSL…4's　existed　on　the　planet：　two　in　Russia；　one　in　Canada；　three　in　the　U。S。；　and　not　one　in　all　of　Europe；　Africa；　or　Asia。　Now；　within　a　mile　of　one　another；　there　were　five　BSL…4's　on　Los　Alamos's　southern　mesa　finger。　In　one　fell　swoop；　the　place　had　anointed　itself　headquarters　for　the　war　on　Corfu。　Like　Cavendish；　Los　Alamos　had　bee　an　upstart　the　science　world　could　not　ignore。
　The　expanded　infrastructure　needed　people；　of　course。　Cavendish　had　spent　on　that；　too。　The　new　hires　weren't　all　his　doing；　but　he　set　a　tone。　His　tastes　ran　towards　apostates　and　rebels　and　daredevils　and　outlaws。　After　the　fact…always　after　the　fact…Golding　saw　the　application　files。　In　one　way　or　another；　rightly　or　wrongly；　most　of　these　new　émigrés　to　the　Mesa　felt　that　they　had　been　wronged。　Their　careers　had　been　marginalized　in　some　way；　or　they'd　been　passed　over　for　tenure；　or　their　grant　proposals　had　been　unjustly　turned　down；　or　their　research　spurned。　One　was　a　reproductive　endocrinologist　before　hisin　vitro　clinic　in　Florida　was　firebombed　by　evangelicals。　An　oncology　researcher　had　lost　his　license　after　the　death　of　a　terminally　ill　child　he'd　treated　with　an　untested　monoclonal　cure。　Many　were　ghosts　from　biomania；　that　great　Wall　Street　surge　of　the　80s　and　90s。　When　the　bubble　burst；　many　highly　skilled　scientists　had　been　left　bankrupt　or　eking　out　their　days　as　lab　techs　or　high　school　biology　teachers。
　It　was　these　kinds　of　people…the　jilted；　the　disenfranchised；　the　biotech　ronin…whom　Cavendish　had　helped　gather　into　the　bosom　of　Los　Alamos。　Golding　knew　the　type　well。　On　a　daily　basis；　the　vast　University　of　California　system　turned　away　such　disgraced　scientists。　It　was　no　surprise　that　they　had　e　so　gladly　into　the　New　Mexico　desert；　and　gave　Cavendish　such　loyalty。
　He　didn't　offer　them　much　in　real　world　terms。　There　were　no　Silicon　Valley…type　neighborhoods。　The　labs…springing　up　like　daisies…were　housed　in　mothballed　buildings；　Quonset　huts；　even　in　Army　field　tents。　The　offices　held　metal　government…issue　furniture。　Time　was　kept　by　old…fashioned　caged　wall　clocks。　Some　of　the　chalkboards　were　the　very　same　ones　physicists　had　crammed　with　equations　during　World　War　II。　What　Cavendish　offered　was　a　second　chance。　Life　after　death。
　He　also　gave　them　secrecy。　That　was　the　greatest　danger。　It　was　the　Wild　West　all　over　again；　a　frontier　in　every　lab；　with　no　Wyatt　Earp　in　sight。
　The　elevator　door　opened　silently。　Golding　descended　to　sub…C；　the　floor　holding　offices　that　looked　over　the　cloning　bay。　She　paused　by　a　window。　Divers　were　midwifing　yet　another　clone　in　the　delivery　tank's　radiant　blue　water。　The　procedure　had　bee　perfunctory。　There　was　no　audience　of　lab　workers；　only　a　team　of　medics　waiting　on　deck。　Miranda　was　not　among　the　divers。　They　went　about　their　job；　opening　the　womb　sac；　ushering　the　clone　from　one　life　to　another。　A　curtain　of　hair　eddied　and　whorled　around　the　body。　Golding　went　on。
　A　light　showed　under　Cavendish's　door。　Golding　straightened　her　jacket。　On　second　thought　she　removed　the　cannula　and　parked　her　oxygen　cart　to　one　side。　She　could　manage　without　canned　air　for　the　few　minutes　this　would　take。　She　gave　a　sharp　rap。
　〃e　in；〃　said　Cavendish。
　Golding　entered。　And　froze。　〃Paul？〃　she　whispered。
　Sitting　beside　Cavendish；　Abbot　was　waiting　for　her。　He　stood　up；　ever　the　gentleman。　He　did　not　ins