“Then nothing has worked,” she said.
Todd said nothing.
“Isn’t there something? Some cure that won’t kill the host?”
“There was only one thing they mentioned. But Roman believes it’s only a temporary effect. Not a cure.”
“What’s the treatment?”
“A hyperbaric chamber. It requires a minimum of ten atmospheres of pressure. The equivalent of diving to a depth of over three hundred feet. Infected animals kept at those high pressures are still alive, six days after exposure.”
“It has to be a minimum of ten atmospheres?”
“Anything less, and the infection runs its course. The host dies.”
She let out a cry of frustration. “Even if we could pump our air pressure that high, ten atmospheres is more than this station can tolerate.”
“Even two would stress the hull,” said Todd. “Plus, you’d need a heliox atmosphere. You can’t reproduce that on the station. That’s why I didn’t want to mention it. In your situation, it’s useless information. We’ve already looked into the possibility of flying a hyperbaric chamber up to ISS, but equipment that bulky—something capable of producing pressures that high—needs to go into Endeavour’s cargo bay. The problem is, she’s already out of horizontal processing. It would take a minimum of two weeks to get chamber loaded up and launched. And it means docking the orbiter to ISS. Exposing Endeavour and its crew to your contamination.” He paused. “USAMRIID says that’s not an option.” She was silent, her frustration boiling into rage. Their only hope, a hyperbaric chamber, required their return to earth. That was not an option either.
“There has to be something we can do with this information,” she said. “Explain to me. Why would hyperbaric therapy work? Why did USAMRIID even think of testing it?”
“I asked Dr. Roman that same question.”
“What did he say?”
“That this was a new and bizarre organism. That it requires us to consider unconventional therapy.”
“He didn’t answer your question.”
“It’s all he would tell me.”
Ten atmospheres of pressure was near the upper limit of human tolerance. Emma was an avid scuba diver, but she had never dared go deeper than a hundred twenty feet. A depth of three hundred feet was only for the foolhardy. Why had USAMRIID tested such extreme pressures? They must have had a reason, she thought. Something they know about this organism made them think it would work.
Something they’re not telling us.
The reason why Gordon Obie was known as the Sphinx had never been more apparent than on their flight to San Diego. They had signed out one of the T-38 jets from Ellington Field, with Obie at the controls and Jack squeezed into the single passenger seat. They hardly said a word to each other while in the air was not surprising. A T-38 is not conducive to conversation, since passenger and pilot sit one behind the other like two peas crammed in a pod.
But even during the refueling stop in El Paso, when they had both climbed out to stretch their legs after an hour and a half in quarters, Obie could not be drawn into conversation. Only once, they stood on the edge of the tarmac drinking Dr. Peppers from the hangar vending machine, did he offer a spontaneous comment. He squinted up at the sun, already past its noon height, and said, “If she was my wife, I’d be scared shitless too.” Then he tossed his empty soda can into the trash bin and walked back to the jet.
After landing at Lindbergh Field, Jack took the wheel of their rental car, and they headed north on Interstate 5 to La Jolla. said almost nothing, but simply stared out the window. Jack had always thought Gordon was more machine than man, and he imagined that computerlike brain registering the passing scenery like of data: HILL, OVERPASS, HOUSING DEVELOPMENT. Though Gordon had once been an astronaut, no one in the corps really knew him. He would dutifully show up at all their social events, but stand off by himself, a quiet and solitary figure sipping nothing stronger than his favorite Dr. Pepper. He seemed perfectly at ease with his own silence, accepted it as part of his personality, he’d accepted his comically protruding ears and his bad haircuts.
If no one really knew Gordon Obie, it was because he saw no reason to reveal himself.
That was why his comment in El Paso had surprised Jack. If she was my wife, I’d be scared shitless too.
Jack could not imagine the Sphinx ever being scared, nor could he imagine him being married. As far as he knew, Gordon had always been a bachelor.
Afternoon fog was already rolling in from the sea by the time they wound their way up the La Jolla coastline. They almost missed the entrance to SeaScience, the turnoff was marked by one small sign, and the road beyond it seemed to lead into a grove of eucalyptus trees. Only when they’d driven a half mile down the road did they spot the building, a surreal, almost fortresslike white concrete structure overlooking the sea.
A woman in a white lab coat met them at the security desk.
“Rebecca Gould,” she said, shaking their hands. “I work down the hall from Helen. I spoke to you this morning.” With her shorn and stout build, Rebecca might have passed for either sex. Even her deep voice was ambiguous.
They took the elevator down to the basement level. “I don’t really know why you insisted on coming out here,” said Rebecca.
“As I told you on the phone, USAMRIID’s already picked Helen’s lab clean.” She pointed to a doorway. “You can see for yourself what little they left behind.” Jack and Gordon stepped into the lab and looked around in dismay.
Empty filing cabinet drawers hung open. Shelves and countertops had been swept clean of all equipment, and not even a test rack was in sight.
Only the wall decorations had been left behind, mostly framed travel posters, seductive photographs of tropical beaches and palm trees and brown women glistening in the sun.
“I was in my lab down the hall the day they showed up. Heard a lot of upset voices and breaking glass. I looked out my door and saw men carting out files and computers. They took everything. The incubators with her cultures. Racks of seawater samples. Even the frogs she kept in that terrarium over there. My assistants tried to stop the raid, and they got hauled out for questioning. Naturally, I called upstairs to Dr. Gabriel’s office.”
“Gabriel?”
“Palmer Gabriel. Our company president. He came down himself, along with a SeaScience attorney. They couldn’t stop the raid, either. The Army just came in with their carton boxes and hauled everything away. They even took the employees’ lunches!” She opened the refrigerator and pointed to the empty shelves. “I don’t know what the hell they thought they’d find.” She turned to face them. “I don’t know why you’re here, either.”
“I think we’re all looking for Helen Koenig.”
“I told you. She resigned.”
“Do you know why?”
Rebecca shrugged. “That’s what USAMRIID kept asking. Whether she was angry at SeaScience. Whether she was mentally unstable. I certainly didn’t see that. I think she was just tired. Burned out from working here seven days a week, for God knows how long.”
“And now no one can find her.”
Rebecca’s chin jutted up in anger. “It’s not a crime to leave town. It doesn’t mean she’s a bioterrorist. But USAMRIID treated this like a crime scene. As if she was growing Ebola virus or something. Helen was studying Archaeons. Harmless sea microbes.”
“Are you certain that was the only project going on in this lab?”
“Are you asking whether I kept tabs on Helen? Of course not. I’m too busy doing my own work. But what else would Helen be doing? She’s devoted years to Archaeon research. That particular strain she sent up to ISS was her discovery. She considered it her personal triumph.”
“Is there a commercial application for Archaeons?” Rebecca hesitated.