“No offense, but that’s ridiculous,” replied Harvath, at the same time wondering if the United States should be looking at a possible connection between the illness and India.
“Is it that ridiculous?” asked Mrs. Whitcomb. “It wasn’t so long ago that the American government was experimenting with mice and fruit fly genes in the hopes of developing some kind of magic potion that would allow its troops to go for weeks, even months, without sleeping.”
“If they ever find a way to bottle that, I’m going to be the first one in line, but in all honesty this just seems too far-fetched.”
“You are certainly entitled to your opinion, but it shows the lengths, even in this day and age, to which countries are willing to go to get the edge,” replied Vanessa.
“True,” said Harvath, “but how could a mere book have had so much power, even back then?”
Vanessa waited until Alan had topped off their glasses once more and then responded, “The Arthashastra was a very diabolical and much-feared corpus. It was infamous throughout half the world, just as its author had intended. Mere mention that a king was in possession of it was enough to make invading armies turn and flee. The knowledge contained within the Arthashastra represented enormous power, and we’re all familiar with the saying ‘Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’?”
Harvath nodded.
“Well, there were many kings and military leaders who couldn’t help themselves. Once they got a taste of the power that lay inside the book, they were hungry for more. It spawned a bloodlust. Many kings who had access to the book quickly lost all respect for human life-regardless of whether those lives belonged to their enemies, or even members of their own family whom they suspected of plotting against them. They killed indiscriminately. But even the most bloodthirsty among them were still terrified by some recipes in the Arthashastra-recipes they dare not toy with. One such recipe, I believe, is playing a part in what we’re talking about right now.”
“What is it? What is the recipe?”
“It’s for a very deadly poison, one of the only Western accounts of which comes from Alexander the Great during his campaign through Pakistan into Southeast Asia in the fourth century B.C. The campaign encountered something they had never seen before-a purple snake with a very short body and a head described as being as white as milk or snow. They observed the snake and didn’t find it to be particularly aggressive, but when it did attack, it did so not with its fangs but rather by vomiting on its victim.”
“Vomiting?” repeated Harvath.
Vanessa tilted her head as if to say, Wait, there’s more, and kept speaking. “Once, let’s say, one of your limbs was vomited upon, it would putrefy and you would die very quickly, although there was a small percentage of victims who were known to have died a slow and lingering death over several years, helplessly watching as their bodies wasted away with necrosis.”
Harvath, who had just lost his taste for anything, set his wine glass down and said, “I don’t see the connection.”
“You will,” replied Vanessa. “The breed of snake that Alexander described was completely unknown to science until the end of the nineteenth century. Paleopathologists and herpetologists alike believe that it is the Azemiops feae, a viper indigenous to China, Tibet, Myanmar, and Vietnam. There is still very little modern science actually knows about this animal.
“The author of the Arthashastra, on the other hand, knew quite a bit. The book cited the use of the snake’s venom for several deadly weapons. “Vanessa took a sip of her wine and said,” Now, here’s where I think things will start getting interesting for you. Extracting the venom from this snake was a very complicated process. While still alive, it had to be suspended upside down over a big pot to catch all of the poison as it dripped out.”
“Jesus,” replied Harvath.
Alcott saw the look on his face and asked, “What is it?”
“The village in northern Iraq, Asalaam-where we believed the terrorists tested the virus.”
“What about it?”
“In one building, people who had been infected with the illness were hung from the ceiling, apparently while still alive.”
“It would appear that you’ve just learned something else,” said Vanessa. “Anecdotal, of course, but potentially useful.”
“Which is?”
“We may be looking at an illness that needs to grow in vivo, rather than in vitro.”
“You mean it has to be grown inside of people?”
“Maybe not every batch, but if this illness had been lying around for over two thousand years, whoever is behind it might have wanted to increase its potency by exposing it to the human immune system and letting it figure out how to beat it before setting it loose.”
“Are you saying this thing can learn?” asked Harvath.
“All living things learn. Their survival depends on it. They must adapt and overcome. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
Harvath contemplated that possibility as Mrs. Whitcomb continued. “After dripping down, the snake’s venom would then collect in the bottom of the pot and congeal into a yellowish gumlike substance. When the viper eventually died, another pot was placed beneath it to catch the watery serum as it drained from the carcass. It took about three days for those secretions to jell into a deep black substance. At this point, you had two completely different poisons that killed in two completely different ways. Neither of which was very pretty.”
“How did they kill?”
“Well, the black substance was said to cause the lingering-style death over several years, while the yellowish poison derived from the pure venom-are you ready for this?”
Harvath nodded his head and leaned toward her.
“The pure venom concoction caused violent convulsions followed by the victim’s brain turning to a black liquid that ran out his nasal passages,” said Vanessa as she sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest as if to say beat that.
Harvath looked at Jillian, who simply nodded her head. “And there’s nothing else that causes the brain to liquefy and run out the nose like that?” he asked.
“Not one single thing on this earth,” replied Vanessa.
TWENTY-FIVE
As the facts tumbled around the fertile soil of Harvath’s brain looking for places in which they could take root, he asked, “If this is about snake venom, why can’t we use some sort of antivenin?”
“Because,” said Alan Whitcomb, “we don’t exactly know for sure what we’re dealing with here. Improper use of antivenin can not only delay a patient’s recovery, but more often than not, it can actually speed up the mortality process. Unfortunately, because of the rarity of this snake, there are no test kits or special instruments available for the conclusive identification of the presence of Azemiops feae venom. There is also no known antivenin.”
Harvath was frustrated. What good was discussing what kind of venom they might be dealing with if there was no sure way to detect it and no sure way to treat it? “I don’t understand, “He replied as he looked at Alan. “Jillian said that she had come to both of you for help because she believes the illness is derived from something in antiquity. If you’re not a paleopathologist, how do you fit into all of this?”
“Well, as Jillian said, my field is molecular biology-which encompasses both biophysics and biochemistry. In short, I study the building blocks of life, specifically something called aDNA. In case you’re wondering, the a stands for ancient. Many people in my field like to refer to it as molecular archeology. You see, for a very long time the scientific powers that be didn’t see a need for our expertise in helping examine human remains. The commonly held belief was that degradation of DNA occurred within hours or days after an individual’s death.