In an excavation site in Mexico, a team of archeologists uncovers the lost tomb of Montezuma--and a deadly strain of anthrax as ancient as the Biblical plagues. One by one, the team falls violently ill, bleeding from their eyes and ears before succumbing to a slow, painful death. Whatever was buried with the Aztec chief is still active, infectious--and now airborne…
It Spreads Quickly…
In Austin, a young archeologist listens to the dying words of her mentor in Mexico--a warning to quarantine the site before all hell breaks loose. In Atlanta, the CDC's Dr. Mason Williams leads an emergency squad on a life-or-death mission--into the hot zone. At Fort Detrick, an army officer sends a trained team to secure the anthrax--as a biological weapon. But time is running out. The disease is spreading rapidly across the border, into the airports, and across the globe, killing thousands. With no cure, no vaccine, and no way to contain it, there will be no hope for humanity--to survive…
In an excavation site in Mexico, a team of archeologists uncovers the lost tomb of Montezuma--and a deadly strain of anthrax as ancient as the Biblical plagues. One by one, the team falls violently ill, bleeding from their eyes and ears before succumbing to a slow, painful death. Whatever was buried with the Aztec chief is still active, infectious--and now airborne…
It Spreads Quickly…
In Austin, a young archeologist listens to the dying words of her mentor in Mexico--a warning to quarantine the site before all hell breaks loose. In Atlanta, the CDC's Dr. Mason Williams leads an emergency squad on a life-or-death mission--into the hot zone. At Fort Detrick, an army officer sends a trained team to secure the anthrax--as a biological weapon. But time is running out. The disease is spreading rapidly across the border, into the airports, and across the globe, killing thousands. With no cure, no vaccine, and no way to contain it, there will be no hope for humanity--to survive…
The Anthrax Protocol: A Dystopian Viral Pandemic Thriller
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The Anthrax Protocol: A Dystopian Viral Pandemic Thriller
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Overview
In an excavation site in Mexico, a team of archeologists uncovers the lost tomb of Montezuma--and a deadly strain of anthrax as ancient as the Biblical plagues. One by one, the team falls violently ill, bleeding from their eyes and ears before succumbing to a slow, painful death. Whatever was buried with the Aztec chief is still active, infectious--and now airborne…
It Spreads Quickly…
In Austin, a young archeologist listens to the dying words of her mentor in Mexico--a warning to quarantine the site before all hell breaks loose. In Atlanta, the CDC's Dr. Mason Williams leads an emergency squad on a life-or-death mission--into the hot zone. At Fort Detrick, an army officer sends a trained team to secure the anthrax--as a biological weapon. But time is running out. The disease is spreading rapidly across the border, into the airports, and across the globe, killing thousands. With no cure, no vaccine, and no way to contain it, there will be no hope for humanity--to survive…
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780786037315 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 02/23/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 400 |
| File size: | 433 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Anthrax Protocol
By James Thompson
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
Copyright © 2016 James M. ThompsonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-3731-5
CHAPTER 1
Tlateloco, 2014
Charles Adams groaned, his patrician features drawn into a grimace, his teeth bared against pain, as he squinted into a boiling tropical sun. His wavy, silver hair lay plastered against his skull; his safari shirt was wrinkled, stained with blood and vomit, clinging to him like a second skin.
Adams clutched his chest, doubling over as pain blazed between his shoulder blades like a hot knife. A cough started deep in his thorax and exploded from his mouth, wracking his body with spasms. Blood, mucus, and bits of lung tissue sprayed onto the cracked leather cover of an ancient journal lying in his lap.
His colleagues and all his associates were dead. Some were lying in a tunnel leading to a deep inner chamber beneath the ancient Aztec village known as Tlateloco, struck down where they stood by a mysterious illness. Others died more slowly, suffering in makeshift tent hospitals his staff erected or in campsites near the dig. Many died so suddenly there hadn't been time to summon medical help, literally bleeding to death in a matter of hours — hemorrhaging through their noses and mouths and ears, bleeding internally, dying so quickly they rarely uttered a coherent word before a vacant stare dulled their eyes.
A number were graduate students whose young lives had just begun, an elite group of the best candidates in the University of Texas's archaeological doctoral program. And now they were dead, all dead, and he knew in a short while he would join them.
Sweat poured off his face, soaking his khaki shirt as he was shaken by an almost continuous chill, his teeth chattering and muscles twitching beyond his control. He leaned back against the cool, rough stones of the tomb and shut red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He knew he was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Strangely, thoughts of his death did not terrify him as they once would have. In spite of his physical agony he felt an inner peace, an almost mystical rightness about his dying here in this place where the body of the chief of the Aztecs lay.
He chuckled around a wrenching, hacking cough. It was true, he thought. Nothing focuses the mind like the knowledge of imminent death.
He used his sweat-drenched sleeve to wipe blood and gore off the journal and opened it with weakened, trembling hands.
It was all here in the diary, he thought, resting against a tunnel wall near the outer door to the tomb. Warnings had been given, yet he and the others ignored them in their haste to solve an historical mystery. It read like sixteenth-century superstition, those writings by Díaz. Rambling notes in archaic Spanish about ancient curses and what Díaz called the Black Plague. Cortés's men and the Aztecs were dying from unknown causes, their skin turning black as they bled out, choking on their own blood. A curse, Díaz wrote, cast by Aztec gods who were angry over the looting by Hernán Cortés and by his disrespectful treatment of Emperor Montezuma.
But that was in the year 1521, when no one understood infectious diseases or how germs were spread. It would have been nonsense to heed some vague warning written more than four centuries ago and overlook the possibility of making a discovery like this, the burial chamber of fabled Aztec Chief Montezuma — a tomb that was filled with priceless artifacts and implements and perhaps much more that could reveal so many of the Aztecs' undecipherable secrets.
Now, as Dr. Charles Adams lay dying at the door of a cleared passageway into Montezuma's tomb, he knew he should have heeded Díaz's warning. Some ancient disease, some fungus or a germ of unknown origin, had lain dormant in this burial chamber for hundreds of years only to awaken and kill all of the interlopers to this sacred tomb.
He chuckled again, delirious, thinking an ancient curse could not have been more deadly than whatever hellish disease had felled him and his students.
Adams's head lolled to the side, peering in the semidarkness down a long passage to the dig outside the emperor's tomb. Through an opening in the tunnel, he could see several of his friends' and colleagues' bodies lying where they fell, baking in a blistering tropical sun. A small jungle cat of some sort was pulling on a bloated corpse's leg, attempting to drag the body into the forest where it could be consumed in safety.
He glanced down at Díaz's tattered diary, remarkably preserved in its leather bindings, protected from time and the elements in a sealed tunnel. An incredible find in itself, a record of Cortés's expedition to the New World and its first contacts with the Aztec Empire. Scribbled notations near the end of his diary had seemed out of character for a meticulous chronicler like Díaz was known to be.
His rambling, almost senseless descriptions of curses and Black Death and his repeated warnings not to enter Montezuma's tomb almost read like the ravings of a madman. Then the written record ended suddenly, a few final pages spattered with faded bloodstains. Too late, Adams now believed he understood the significance of the blood. He glanced down and saw similar blood spatter on his trousers and shirt.
Too late, he realized he had solved not only the mystery of Díaz's death but also the mystery of what had caused the Aztec civilization to vanish completely without a trace.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of a fog creeping into his vision, numbing his mind, making him incoherent. Another cough coursed through his lungs, digging its razor-like claws into his brain. He blacked out for a moment, his vision narrowing to a fine point of light surrounded by darkness.
When he awakened, skies were darkening outside. Tropical dusk was rapidly descending, elongating shadows and blurring most details of the forest. Adams knew with a certainty chilling him to the bone that he would never see the dawn. His halogen work light grew dim. He followed its beam with his eyes into the chamber, to Montezuma's mummified corpse reposed on a stone slab.
The mummy was flanked by the bodies of two monkeys, decayed flesh pulling away from flinty white bone, curled in fetal positions. One wore a jeweled collar, a wrinkled deerskin band decorated with rows of emeralds and bits of hammered gold. The other monkey's collar was missing — it had been around the shriveled creature's neck when Adams first opened the tomb. A local workman had surely stolen it before everyone started to get sick.
In the beginning, team members entering the tomb experienced flu-like symptoms and a quick recovery lasting two or three days. Then the bleeding began — and later, sudden agonizing death.
He knew his mind was wandering, damaged by the unknown illness coursing through his bloodstream, yet he couldn't take his gaze from Montezuma's corpse. Perhaps the best-known Mexican ruler in the West, he lay mummified inside a twenty-foot chamber a few yards away, his final resting place a mystery until almost a week ago.
At the young emperor's feet were clay urns and tablets and ornaments so valuable to the field of archaeology they were literally priceless — a find that would make worldwide news. But with the unearthing of Chief Montezuma's mummy, another event loomed larger than the discovery's contribution to the study of archaeology or the baffling mysteries of ancient Aztec civilization. Some dark force had been released ... Díaz called it a curse, a Black Death so potent it survived five hundred years to awaken and strike everyone at the dig site.
Some form of disease had surfaced by the simple removal of a huge stone blocking the entrance to Montezuma's tomb. In a daze, not quite lucid, Adams now blamed himself for the deaths.
He forced his mind to concentrate, knowing what he had to do. No one without extensive experience in medicine would understand the gravity of what happened here. Medical specialists were needed immediately and Dr. Lauren Sullivan, his associate and trusted colleague at the University of Texas, would know what to do ... who to call, where to begin.
He coughed and spat blood. With a supreme effort he pulled the cell phone out of a scabbard on his belt and hit the auto-dial button. Maybe by now the damned Mexican phone company would have a cell available and his call to the United States could go through ...
He felt his lungs burn and sleeved more blood from his upper lip. "Please answer," he croaked in a phlegmy voice thickened by blood as a series of electronic beeps initiated his telephone call across a continent.
He heard a ring and was silently thankful a connection had finally been made. Coughing again, he almost lost consciousness when a wave of dizziness swept through him. A third ring, then a fourth, without an answer. "Damn it," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Answer the phone, Lauren."
On the sixth ring a sleepy voice said, "Hello."
"Charles," he gasped, blinking furiously, trying to clear a tangled maze of cobwebs from his vision. "Trouble. Big trouble. Listen very closely. What I'm about to tell you will sound ludicrous. Insane. Just please listen to me."
"Dr. Adams ... Charlie? What's wrong?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm dying. Everyone at the site is dead. There's a sickness of some kind. We got sick as soon as we opened the tomb ... right afterward. It was like the flu. Then it went away. A few days later everyone started bleeding from the nose and mouth. Within hours they were dying. Robert and Bonnie and Kelly died first. I sent someone for a doctor, but Jules died behind the wheel of our Jeep before he could reach help. A farmer found him slumped behind the wheel with blood all over his body. I can't understand it. We tested for gases and cinnabar the way we always do. Everything was okay. The farmer who found Jules is also dead."
He retched violently, gritting his teeth against pain so intense it almost rendered him unconscious. Again, he focused his thoughts on warning her of the danger. "You must contact the Mexican authorities. Call Professor Eduardo Matos at INAH. He's an old friend. Tell him what's happened. Warn him not to enter the tomb. Don't come here. Don't let anyone else disturb this place."
He took a ragged breath, air whistling into his lungs. "Everything must be burned ... destroyed completely ..."
Lauren's voice was suddenly clear of sleepiness. "Charlie, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"
"There isn't time." Charles choked, fighting back another spasm of coughing. "It's in journal translation I sent you." He was interrupted by another bout of coughing and vomiting. "Read it ... but don't come here! Promise me ..."
"Okay, Charlie, I promise. Just tell me what's happening!" Adams could hear Lauren's voice rising in panic.
"Hang up. Make that call. It's too late for me ... for all of us." He put a shaky finger on the End button, his head falling back against the stones. His fingers relaxed on the telephone. It fell to the floor of the tunnel.
"Charles!" Lauren screamed into the phone, "Charles, are you there?" There was no answer, only the static of the long-distance carrier signal.
Austin, Texas
Lauren's chest was heaving and she felt sick. She knew in her heart her friend was dying, or worse, perhaps he was already dead.
The thought caused her to rush into the bathroom to splash water on her face. She remained there, looking at herself in the mirror with tears coursing down her cheeks.
Shaking her head, she threw off her nightgown and stepped into the shower. "Enough feeling sorry for yourself, Lauren," she muttered sleepily. "Get in the shower, get your head clear, and then get on the telephone." She knew if there was any possibility some of the students and faculty were alive, she must act quickly. She took a fast shower, the water as cold as she could stand it. While toweling her hair dry she hurried to her bedroom phone.
She sat on the side of her bed and switched on a table lamp. After digging in the drawer of her nightstand for a few moments, she found a registry of members of the International Archaeological Society. Thumbing through the pages, she located Dr. Eduardo Matos's name and home phone number.
She glanced at the clock, almost midnight. Too tired to calculate the difference in time between Austin and Mexico City, she realized it didn't matter. This was no time to worry about waking someone up. She dialed as fast as her finger could move.
A deep masculine voice answered, speaking in rapid Spanish through faint static on the line, "Hola, soy Dr. Matos."
"Hello, Dr. Matos. This is Lauren Sullivan from the University of Texas ... Dr. Charles Adams's associate."
Matos switched to clear, unaccented English. "Of course, Dr. Sullivan. I remember you from the international conference last year. How are you?"
Lauren took a moment to arrange her thoughts. She needed to present her story in a logical manner. "Professor ..."
Matos interrupted her. "Please, call me Eduardo. There is no need for such formality among friends."
"Thank you. Tonight I received an emergency call from Dr. Adams."
"Charles? But I thought he was at the dig site at Tlateloco."
"He is. He called me on his cell phone. He said his entire team was dead and that he was dying." Her voice broke as she remembered what Charlie told her over the phone. As best she could she recited symptoms of the illness he described and that now every other member of Charlie's student excavation team was no longer alive.
"Dios mío!" Matos cried, reverting for a moment into his native language.
As her eyes filled, Lauren struggled to keep from sobbing as she spoke. "Charles said it was some illness, something from the tomb they were excavating and that it had killed all his students and workers. He called it a plague."
"What kind of plague?"
"He didn't say ... I don't think he knew." Her voice tightened again, and she was on the verge of losing control. "He told me the entire site should be quarantined until someone can identify what the illness is, and no one should come there. He was afraid the disease would spread if the site were disturbed." She hesitated, "He also said the entire place should be burned."
"Did he say anything else? Did he give any further details of the symptoms?"
"No, he was very ill. He was coughing almost continually, although I could hear him saying something about bleeding, that everyone was bleeding."
Matos said, "Lauren, try to calm down. I know you and Charles are close, but we must proceed very carefully. This can be a delicate situation." He paused a moment, static crackling over a weak phone connection. After a few seconds, he spoke again. "The disease must act quickly. Charles has only been in Tlateloco a little over three weeks."
"Professor, what should I do? I've got to try to help them. In spite of what Charles said, some of the students may still be alive. He wasn't thinking clearly."
"Let me think." A moment later he said, "The problem is our medical facilities here in Mexico are still somewhat primitive, especially in regards to infectious diseases. Thankfully, the site, though close to Mexico City, is relatively isolated, accessible only by primitive jungle paths. It is unlikely to be visited by anyone not directly involved in the excavation ... unless grave robbers discover it."
"Do you think we could get some doctors from the States to fly in and ...?"
Matos interrupted, "We are in a precarious political situation. Our government here is very proud, and more than a little resentful about incursions into our territory by the so-called colossus to the north."
His next words were drowned out by a burst of static and crackling as a solar flare disrupted transmission.
Lauren said, "Excuse me, Eduardo, could you repeat that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, even getting Charles permission to excavate the tomb took months of delicate negotiations at very high levels." He was silent a moment, then he added, "However, there may be a way. Let me make some calls and I'll get back to you." His voice changed and became more forceful. "Until then, Lauren, you must promise me not to tell anyone else of this! No one, do you understand me?"
"No, Eduardo, I don't. We must get help to Dr. Adams as soon as possible."
Once again his voice became soft, reassuring. "That is what I am going to do, Lauren, but you must allow me to do it my way. All right?"
Lauren sighed, tears running down her cheeks. "Okay, Eduardo. Just please call me back as soon as you can."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Anthrax Protocol by James Thompson. Copyright © 2016 James M. Thompson. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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