This is the third and final part of a mini-series I’m doing. You can read Part I here and Part II here.
I wrote this in 2017-18 just on a whim, just for fun.
Steven looked over at Anders, who had recently arrived at the top of the mountain via one of the cable cars. It never ceased to amaze Steven how Anders could make any setting seem colder and more ominous just by showing up. Here it was, a bright, lovely summer afternoon at the top of a magnificent mountain overlooking one of the great cities of the world, and Anders, like a black hole, was sucking all of the beauty and joy from the scene.
Steven chuckled to himself. They were about to set in motion the next phase of a plan that was going to reshape the world. There would be death, destruction, panic, and genuine chaos. But all of that seemed almost delightful in comparison to the man sitting beside him.
“How was your flight?”
“I assume you have it.”
Steven nodded.
“May I see it?”
Steven reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, clear glass vial with a black top filled with a fine white powder. He set it down on the table, right next to Anders’ cup of English Breakfast tea.
Anders glanced briefly down at it while stirring his tea. “And we’ve produced…?”
Steven nodded. “The equivalent of ten 55 gallon drums, each one currently in deep freeze. One for each location. Once they’ve safely reached their destinations, our facilities will be standing by to further condense and distribute them. From there, they’ll continue to be disseminated by our teams as we’ve discussed.”
Anders gave no acknowledgement that he’d heard a word of what Steven had said. He simply sipped his tea and rested his icy blue gaze on the harbor below.
Steven, irritated, leaned in a bit. “You do realize what an accomplishment this is, right?”
Anders looked him over. “In 1990, Shoko Asahara and twenty-four disciples, believing that they could control Japanese society, ran for election and failed miserably. They garnered a pathetic 1,700 votes. Total. Their Aum Shinrikyo cult did not hold the power and glory that they believed was rightfully theirs, at least according to the public. Doing things the legal and democratic way was an obvious failure, so they...adjusted their methods.”
Steven sat back and let Anders talk. As much as the man irritated him, over the years he’d learned to listen carefully, because there was always a highly-relevant and game-changing point he’d make. Anders didn’t waste words or speak because he loved the chit-chat. He spoke because he wanted his listener to know just how terrifying of a man he was, and Steven had learned the hard way how dangerous it was to cross him.
Three years ago, after a particularly heated conversation with Anders about racism in America, Steven, after no less than five gin and tonics and two shots of Fireball at the local bar, began talking about it all. He began spilling, to anyone who was listening, how Joel had just been a setup, a recruiter. How it had all been a sham, a fake relationship. He then moved on to Anders, Sophia, and the experiments they’d hired him to do.
When he got home later than night, he found his dog, Jules, hanging from his balcony railing by the collar, very much dead. Resting delicately on his pillow was a small piece of intoxicatingly sweet-smelling rose-colored paper, and on it, inlayed in delicate gold, was the drawing of a forger’s hammer. It was a clear message from Anders, and it shook Steven. To this day, neither of them had discussed it.
Anders continued, “Over the next several years, Asahara and the Aum recruited wealthy and highly educated devotees, including Russian businessmen with deep and lethal influence.” Anders paused and sipped his tea. “After World War II, the Soviets continued to build their biological weapons programs with little regard for the previous treaties and protocols. After the collapse, Yeltzin and the Russian Federation claimed to have shut down all of the production facilities with the intent of turning them into something more benevolent, but there’s been little evidence or official documentation that’s ever happened. You’re familiar with this firsthand.”
Steven nodded and nearly shuddered. In fact, he’d been to several of those facilities, and if he never had to go to another one in this lifetime, it would still be too soon. As despicable as humanity was in general, there was a level of sadism that he witnessed at the hands of the scientists in those Russian labs that went far beyond the darkest and most disturbing parts of his imagination.
“Asahara’s connection to these Russians - as well as his own countrymen - allowed him to procure the knowledge, expertise, and resources he needed to build his sarin production facility in Japan. Or should I say, it was us,” Anders motioned back and forth with his finger between himself and Steven, “that allowed him to create that facility. Did you know you that?”
Steven shook his head, but he wasn’t surprised. After all these years of discovering just how ingrained their organization was within the world’s political, economic, religious, and social world order, he felt nothing would shock him.
“Do you know why we carried out that experiment?”
“To understand how the public would react to a subway attack?”
Anders smiled over his cup. “You’ve been with us for five years. I thought by now your thinking would be much more geometric.”
“OK, so why’d we do it?”
“First, could a factory that produced that much chemical weaponry be built in a stable, peaceful country, within open view of its citizens?”
“Second, what would the quantity and quality of production be like in this setting? We allowed the Aum to acquire the precise ingredients we wanted for this controlled test. We didn’t give them the best materials to build and create with. Instead of being able to develop an aerosol delivery system, which as you know is traditionally recognized as the most effective method, they had to use liquid which greatly reduces the potency as well as the exposure. As expected, the casualties were relatively small. However, it was the largest civilian chemical terror attack in modern history to that point.”
“Basically we wanted to see what type of lemonade they’d make with the lemons they were given?”, Steven ventured.
Anders nodded curtly. “Yes, and keep in mind, this cult at one point had a membership of 40,000 people, many of them well-educated and financed. The question we wanted answered was one of ingenuity. How smart and innovative would this group be with the tools they were given? With this type of control group, we felt it could serve as a good litmus test for future exercises.”
He continued on, his eyes roaming the crowd on the patio. “Third, as with all of these types of public terror attacks, laws, government policies, law enforcement, and social norms would inevitably change. Japanese culture after World War II primarily became peaceful and docile. They are a society that is based on pride and shame, and their complete and total defeat on the world stage in World War II was a blow that would torment them for the decades to come.”
Steven could see Anders was getting on a roll, and without fail, that was always a contradiction for Steven. On the one hand, the man gave him the creeps, and the less time he spent with him, the better.
On the other hand, he couldn’t put a price on the value of the worlds that opened up and the things he learned from him. The knowledge that was in his head was staggering, and sometimes Steven wanted to crack the man’s skull open - figuratively and literally - to have a look.
“As they recovered and reinvented themselves, many of their roots returned. The deeply held beliefs of shame and the onus on appearances reinstituted themselves, as did the deference to do what’s in the interest of the greater good. In this case, the greater good meant regaining national pride. However, whereas many countries pursue national pride through conquest and expansion, Japan turned inward, benevolent. War, terrorism, and violence, while a reality for so much of the rest of the world, simply disappeared from the day-to-day consciousness of the Japanese.”
Anders eyed another cable car that had arrived looked at his watch. “As you know, that doesn’t work with our larger plan. So we set about changing their culture and society by introducing fear. Fear leads to…?”
“Control.”
Another small smile from Anders. “Yes. Control. The Tokyo attack forever altered the fabric of Japanese culture by searing into their collective consciousness the real and frightening thoughts that no matter how much peace is pursued, evil still lurks. In effect, that attack dug up the fertile soil we needed to plant the necessary seeds that will ensure the Japanese people do what we require of them when the time comes. They continue to live as a society of shame, but now fear has been kneaded into their dough.”
Steven cocked his head slightly and asked, “Why didn’t we just implement our plan when we had the chance at the end of the war?”
Anders shook his head. “How long do you think we’ve been around?”
“Well, we’ve never actually had this conversation, but from what I’ve gathered in my time with you, since before the war.”
Anders blue eyes gleamed in the bright afternoon, and a nostalgic look washed over him, a look Steven rarely had seen from the normally stoic man. It was almost like watching a drab meadow shrouded in clouds suddenly burst forth with color and light.
“In 1884, a society was formed in Britain called the Fabian society. You’ve heard of this?”
Steven nodded. “The Fabians created social reform in Britain that in a lot of ways lead to the formation of the Labour party. George Bernard Shaw was one of the most influential members early on and designed the Fabian Window.”
“How much do you know about the Fabian Window?”, Anders interjected eagerly.
“Geez,” Steven thought. “Really hit a nerve here.”
To Anders, he said, “Just a little bit. It’s a stained glass window designed by Shaw that shows him and someone else hitting a molten metal ball, and the meaning is that they were going to reshape the world. In fact, isn’t that their motto? ‘We’ll remake the world in our image?’”
“Close. On the window is the last line of a poem by an Iranian poet named Omar Khayyam. The exact wording is ‘Remould it nearer to the heart’s desire.’ The two men, Shaw and Sidney Webb, are forging a glowing orange orb, which represents the earth. Beneath them are huddled masses worshipping around a stack of books about socialism. Between the two forgers is a crest which shows a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Do you know why they chose a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
“Well, I’d imagine they didn’t want people outside of their club to know their real reason for existing, but I’m really only guessing.”
“Partially correct. Whereas other revolutionaries sought to achieve their ends through violence and outright rebellion, the Fabians knew that to really achieve their long-lasting dream of a global socialist society, they would have to choose subtlety and patience over the rash and obvious. They would remake the world in their image,” Anders said, nodding at Steven, “through stealth and by quietly and diligently permeating the established world orders. They would use subterfuge, deception, manipulation, and whatever else was just out of the spotlight if possible. Fabians are chameleons, masters of hiding in plain sight.”
“But it was George Bernard Shaw that publicly advocated for the Zyklon-B gas and chambers that eventually ended up becoming a reality in the Nazi death camps. He was a very notable figure at the turn of the century.”
“Correct. He said ‘I appeal to the chemists to discover a humane gas that will kill instantly and painlessly. In short- a gentlemanly gas, deadly by all means, but humane, not cruel.’ He was speaking of the unproductive and idle; the feeble-minded; the minorities; and those generally deemed to be of no good use to society. When Hitler began to implement that idea, Shaw’s biggest criticism of him was that he was eliminating the wrong type of people. Shaw believed class should be the determining factor. Hitler, of course, believed it was about race. Shaw was a famous person, yes. But there’s a big difference between postulating from the safety of your classroom or office and actually being the ones to get your hands dirty. Shaw was an academic, an artist. People mistakenly have a tendency to write that sort of person off. It’s a big leap to go from a Shaw to a man of action like an Adolph Hitler.”
“So what’s happened to them?”
“Oh, they’re still alive and well today, I can assure you.”
Steven looked into Anders twinkling eyes. “Damn, he looks like Kris Kringle on Christmas morning!”
“So you’re saying we’re Fabians? Is that what I’ve been a part of the past five years? A grand Fabian movement?”
Anders again curtly shook his head. “The Fabians are the founding fathers of our movement. We owe our existence to the Fabians. Men like George Bernard Shaw, HG Wells, and more recently, Tony Blair, have been the diligent vanguards of social, political, and economic global changes. But they are the skin. We’re the blood, bones, and muscle.”
Steven drained his bottle of mineral water and wiped off some excess drops from the side of his mouth with a thumb. “So we’re the shepherds, herding people in whichever direction we choose. We trigger panics and use terrorists and manipulate economies around the globe because if we don’t, humanity will destroy ourselves and the very planet we live on.”
“Yes, and we’ve reached the tipping point. Earth is groaning. Mankind is corrupt. We need a complete reset, and if we don’t do it now, actions beyond our control will cause irreversible and catastrophic consequences. We can’t afford to let that happen.”
Anders nodded down at the small bottle Steven had set on the table. “Tell me about the compound.”
“It’s dangerous,” Steven said, a wry smile on his face. He detested Anders, and it wasn’t often he was in a position to flaunt the upper hand. Of course, he knew it was also entirely possible Anders knew exactly what the “compound” was. It didn’t matter though. Steven knew his involvement was coming to a close, and in a few short months he’d never have to see Anders again. He’d be far away from it all, lying on a beach with a certain Latino he’d recently met.
Anders gave him an icy half-smile and touched his fingertips together in front of his lips. “Young man, please humor me with more details.”
“Ok, sorry,” he began, although he wasn’t sorry at all. “Well, this is without a doubt the most deadly powder ever concocted by a human being. Thanks to the limitless resources you’ve provided,” Steven nodded to Anders, “we’ve accomplished something in five short years that scientists have been trying to do practically since chemical and biological warfare began.”
Steven felt a surge of pride and felt himself getting on a roll. “In a lot of ways, we’ve come a long way since the days of catapulting diseased animals and dead bodies over castle walls. Yet the principle remains the same, doesn’t it? Introduce enough infectious disease or chemical compound into an enemy’s domain, and great damage and terror will be inflicted. Psychological, physical, economic destruction...from one small single cell.”
He grabbed the vial with his thumb and forefinger and held it up. The sunlight reflected through the glass, splashing a brief colorful rainbow across Anders’ dour face. “Two of the most deadly biological killers in history - smallpox and the Spanish flu of 1918 - share two very important components. They’re both airborne, and they’re both viruses. As you know, the last publicly reported case of smallpox was in 1977 before it was declared eradicated, and as far as the rest of the world knows, samples of the virus are kept in two approved facilities in both Russia and the US.”
Anders nodded, and Steven went on. “The Spanish flu, which killed between 25 and 50 million people worldwide in one year between 1918 and 1919, was an incredibly deadly mutation of influenza that curiously attacked some of the healthiest in the population. Teenagers were hit particularly hard. The poor bastards lungs filled with fluid and they ended up drowning.”
Setting the vial down, he continued. “About one-third of the population of the world was infected with it and exhibited symptoms! It actually struck in three waves, the second and third waves being the most deadly. The three waves aren’t incredibly uncommon. Other strains have progressed like this. What made the disease unprecedented was a couple of things.”
Steven held up his forefinger. “One: the disease swept across both the northern and southern hemispheres at the same time during the second and third stages. Most cases of the flu tend to stay relative to the particular hemisphere they’re in. In this day and age with international travel, we naturally see more overlap of the same strain across the hemispheres. Back in 1918 however, people weren’t daily traveling around the world. However, the Great War changed that. Not only did the actual war kill in unprecedented numbers, the virus devastated the population in a new, global way because of how many people were now moving. It was the soldiers, the nurses, and the doctors who, while trying to fight the good fight, were involuntarily spreading death.”
“The second major anomaly with this disease was the staggering quickness with which it spread. As I said, there were three waves. It’s likely that the first stage started ramping up somewhere around 1915 through 1918. Again, that’s not incredibly strange. What is still unknown and strange is how the disease spread and mutated so quickly between the stages. We’re talking a series of mutations in a matter of months and possibly weeks, simultaneously, around the globe.”
Anders sat there stone-faced, so Steven continued. “For so long, this disease has baffled scientists. It came on like a tornado, caused global chaos, and then simply vanished into the wind. It was the deadliest disease in history, yet we knew next to nothing about it. Between 1998 and 2005, we learned much more through study of exhumed tissue, and in 2005 were able to synthesize the disease, which is now kept at the CDC in Atlanta.”
Steven took a deep breath. “What I’ve managed to do is something most scientists thought only theoretically possible sometime in the distant future. Well, the distant future is now the present.” Steven paused theatrically, and then grinned triumphantly. “In this vial is a hybrid compound that combines our two little friends into one. Mr. Mueller, may I present what I’m calling the Stevens-Jules supervirus to you. Smallpox and Spanish Flu RNA, lovingly spliced together, wrapped in bubbles, sealed with a kiss.”
Steven dramatically presented the vial to Anders as if he was offering him the hilt of a magnificent sword. A hint of light appeared in Anders’ eyes, and as he reached out to take it off of Steven’s palm, Steven closed his fist around it, grabbing Anders’ hand with it.
“I loved that damn dog, you son of a bitch,” Steven said in a low, guttural voice, lips twisted in a snarl. Then he released the hand, along with the vial, leaned back in his chair, and glared at Anders.
As if nothing happened, Anders asked, “And the vaccine?”
In a voice dripping with contempt, Steven said, “You’re the only one who isn’t going to get it, asshole.”
Anders smiled politely, and in an almost sing-song voice said, “Young man, the vaccine.”
Steven softened and regained composure. He was a professional, and regardless of his feelings towards the monster in front of him, he believed in the bigger picture. “As you know, part of the process of testing involves answering a host of questions that only real world experience can provide. Questions such as how it would react to the variables in race, geography, climate, etc. How would it spread in the Arctic compared to the jungle, or would caucasians respond differently than Arabs, that kind of thing. And most importantly, how well could we control not only the actual physical effects on the body, but the media, the public, etc.”
“We started with villagers in the Tshilenge District in the Congo. Other than the massive amount of industrial diamond mining done in nearby Mbuji-Mayi, there’s no reason for anyone to care what happens in that part of the world. So it was the perfect spot. Hot, humid environment, wretched poverty and disease, perfect. All told, there were two hundred and eighty-four villagers in this particular case study.”
“On Day 1 we introduced the virus into the control group through injection. Twenty children aged 10-16. Incubation time averaged 72 hours, as we had hoped. Within 120 hours from the time of injection, ninety-nine percent of the subjects expired from massive internal hemorrhaging, which was even more aggressive than we’d hoped for. Within eight days of Day 1, the secondary wave of infection produced another one hundred and eighty-nine cases, and mortality rate for that group was ninety-eight percent. We then vaccinated the remaining villagers.”
“Were you able to determine the reason for the ones who were infected but didn’t expire in the same time as the others?”
“Yeah, and it was remarkable. We ran tests on those subjects and determined that they possess a gene that basically electrocutes the virus. When the body of these individuals recognized that there was this particular foreign invader, their electrical activity spiked. Basically their blood temporarily became a microwave that nuked the virus before it could replicate, and it was harmlessly absorbed and discarded.”
“So you’re saying that of the two hundred and eighty-four villagers, we had two hundred and nine fatalities?” Anders blinked and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So roughly three-quarters of the village was wiped out within eight days?”
Steven nodded.
“What about animals, livestock, etc.?”
“Not one bit of evidence of crossover to animals. We tested birds, pigs, cows, ants. Hell, we even tested the grass and tree bark. As with our other six tests, there was no evidence whatsoever of any kind of crossover, as we had planned. It’s a designer virus, and with every major test, it’s performed just as we’d anticipated. I’m telling you, we nailed this thing.”
“You haven’t talked about the vaccine.”
“Right. Since it’s a designer virus, we’ve created a designer vaccine. It’s like a lock and key. We’ve worked in some special markers to both that will be almost impossible for someone to hack in enough time to make a difference. We will release it eventually to the major vaccine makers, but not until after we’ve accomplished our goal.”
“Did you bring that as well?”
Steven reached into his pocket again and pulled out another clear vial with what looked like water and also set that on the table. Anders merely glanced down at it as if it were a ham sandwich or a pencil.
“In the event something unforeseen should happen to you, we have full and extensive knowledge of your work, correct? Your team knows exactly how you created both virus and anti-virus? You’ve made precise instructions on how to replicate them? Detailed blueprints, as you were required?”
Steven nodded. “I have.”
“Good. You’ve been most impressive. This is a feat that will be written about for centuries to come. Of course no one will ever know your name or exactly where this came from, but anonymity is a small price to pay for the knowledge that you’ve forever altered the human race. You can take that to your grave, which, incidentally, you’ll be residing in very shortly.”
A confused look crossed Steven’s face, and then two things happened simultaneously. The first was that his nostrils registered a familiar, maddeningly sensual smell. The second was he felt a small pinch at the base of his neck which he instantly processed as a needle entering his skin. A delicate, gloved hand touched his forearm, and Sophia’s catlike voice whispered in his ear.
“Darling,” she purred, “I am so sorry, but it’s time for you to leave us. You can sleep now.” Still holding his forearm, she swung her body around and sat down in a chair between himself and Anders. Her luminous hazel eyes studied him with both a clinical detachment and a soft sympathy. It occurred to Steven briefly that it was the same look a veterinarian would give the family pet when it was time to put it down.
Steven felt his jaw clench and body go rigid. It was as if ice were growing inside of his arteries and veins and he was freezing solid from the inside out. He knew he was experiencing paralysis, and yet there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He knew everything that was happening because he’d created this killer drug. All that he could do was stare straight ahead into the soulless eyes of Anders and the detached sadness of Sophia. Once more he admired the beauty of Vancouver below, the bright sun and blue sky above, and a peace swept over him. The last thought he had before the dark terror swallowed him up was that he was grateful to play his part in this grand stage.
Anders stared at Steven’s wide-eyed expression on his lifeless body and watched as it slowly began to slump down in the chair. Finishing his last sip of tea, he gently set the cup on his saucer. Sophia rose wordlessly, grabbed the two vials from the wire cafe table, and stuck them in her small dark green Prada handbag. Anders also rose, smoothed out his suit, checked his watch again, and then the two of them walked onto an arriving cable car and disappeared into the bright afternoon crowd.
great story thankyou
you might find this very short book interesting, esp chapter 2. it was written 45 years a go but the parallels to today are amazing
http://www.whale.to/vaccine/sf.html