Plague, page 12
“That is a natural assumption, and I will not fault you for the asking,” O’Brien said kindly. “But when you compare the legend with historical occurrences of the same date and those occurrences are backed by numerous credible references, then you can be assured the story was not simply made up.”
Kiana continued. “So you’re saying there’s proof of a comet passing over Ireland at the time the legend was written?”
“That I am. Of a truth, the celestial event took place years before the writing of the legend. Oral history had filled in the space of time between the event and the actual recording of it. But it did happen all the same, I assure you.”
“Okay, so that’s one form of evidence,” she argued. “You said there’s always two or more.”
“There is,” Mitch said, reentering the discussion. “There’s clear, corresponding evidence in European tree rings.”
Chapter 23
Dublin, Ireland
“How do tree rings prove this Cúchulainn warrior existed?” Kiana asked with unmasked incredulity.
“They prove a dramatic climatic event occurred at the same time the legend was born,” Mitch defended. “Through ignorance the event was explained away as a god named Cúchulainn.”
“Tree rings!” O’Brien cried, as if it was a revelatory concept.
Mitch opened his briefcase and removed his report. “My current research is on the Plague of 1347. I maintain it wasn’t simply an outbreak of Yersinia pestis.”
“Not the bubonic plague?” O’Brien questioned sharply. “I hate to correct you a second time, Professor Pine, but our historical records are rife with accounts of weeping sores and gangrenous limbs at that time.”
“Yes, but not solely caused by Yersinia.”
The Irishman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying the death of thousands of my countrymen is mere fancy? A comment like that will earn ya a black eye down at the pub.”
“No, sir, that’s not what I’m saying at all. There definitely was a massive plague that wiped out nearly half of Ireland. But Yersinia pestis is an invasive bacterium in humans, not trees. It simply would not leave any dendrochronological record of its outbreak. And yet there is irrefutable evidence that something horrible did happen to the climate before the onset of the Black Death. Are there any legends around 1300 ad that might correlate with that plague?”
“Ahhh,” O’Brien said, his eyes lighting up. “Of a truth, there are. And not just in Ireland, lad. The Battle of Mu in China, the Battle of Troy in Greece, and the Battle of Moytura right here on our own blessed soil all took place around that time. What’s more, they all describe their deity in nearly identical terms. You say your tree-ring records confirm these events?”
“Absolutely. There is empirical evidence that a stunning, climatic, global event took place at that time and many others throughout history.”
“My word! Hold on a titch,” O’Brien said, rising to seek another book from his library. When he found the volume, he began skimming though its pages while muttering words that sounded like Gaelic, as if no longer aware of his guests.
Kiana turned to Mitch with eyebrows raised. Mitch shrugged but couldn’t hide his smile.
“Ah yes, here it is. A Chinese legend says the sky dragon, Mu, waged war with the inhabitants of earth during the same months as the Battle of Moytura in Ireland. In China an area of more than eight hundred square miles was devastated by the dragon, where every tree was razed to the ground and thousands of souls were killed.” He looked up in astonishment. “That reminds me of Cohn’s text . . . ,” he said, dropping the book onto his desk and grabbing another from a shelf. “Here it is: Samuel Cohn writes of a Dominican Friar named Bartolomeo who told of fire from heaven in the form of yellow dust which ‘burst’ mountains and covered the land and people. And from this onslaught, a pestilential smoke arose that killed all who breathed it.”
He closed the book and smiled at his guests.
“Hydrogen sulfide?” Kiana guessed, looking at Mitch.
He nodded, feeling a surge of pride in Kiana’s correct deduction.
“Yeah. I reference Cohn’s text in my report,” Mitch told O’Brien. “But I don’t believe he was conclusive on what caused it.”
O’Brien slowly folded his arms. “Of a truth, there are not many things that could cause such terrible devastation.”
“How about a volcano?” Kiana offered.
“According to Dr. Hjörleifsson,” Mitch said, “there are no chemical markers in the Greenland icepack that show significant volcanic activity during those times.”
“So, then, one might ask, what on earth could it be?” the Irish professor asked in a leading tone. “Or perhaps . . . perhaps it was not from this earth.”
“And you’re suggesting it was a comet,” Mitch prompted.
“Indeed, I am, Professor Pine. Nothing better fits the fiery descriptions in the legends.”
Kiana tapped her fingers against her lips, furrowing her brow in concentration. “But, I mean, well—” she stammered. “I’ve heard of these kinds of legends, okay? We even have a number of them throughout Hawaii and Polynesia. But I’ve never heard anyone proving they were based on comets. No offense, Professor O’Brien,” she added with one of her sincerest smiles.
O’Brien calmly shelved the books he’d removed. “My dear Miss Rosemont. We have in our possession roughly fifty-two hundred years of human-recorded history. That’s a substantial amount of writing covering a substantial length of time. And yet, the only scientifically referenced, near-impact event we have is the Tunguska incident in 1908. What are the odds in those thousands of years that another impact or near-impact event occurred which wasn’t recorded?”
“I’d say pretty slim,” she asserted with a scoff. “Something that significant would have to be written down by someone.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t ya? But you should also keep in mind that seventy percent of the earth’s surface is water. That means for every one earth impact, three more occurred somewhere in the ocean. Statistical logic would say that such events did indeed happen.”
“Oh,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Like the one that killed the dinosaurs.”
O’Brien again leaned against his desk and nodded. “That was a grand one, to be sure. An ELE, an extinction-level event. But that is not my area of expertise, I’m afraid. If you like, I can arrange an interview with a colleague of mine in our earth sciences department.”
Kiana turned to Mitch with a questioning look.
“That would be fine,” he said, frustrated with yet another delay but interested in what the next expert had to say.
“Excellent,” O’Brien said, rounding his desk. He picked up his phone and waited for a moment without speaking. Then, “Maggie, yes, O’Brien here. Can you get Professor St. James in earth sci for me, please? Thank you.” He smiled at his guests then began aimlessly flipping through some papers on his desk. “Yes, I’m still here. Oh, I see—not in the office at present. As it is, I have two academics from the States who’d like to meet with Stephan at his first availability. Yes. Hold a titch,” he said before covering the speaker with his palm. “Stephan’s secretary asks if tomorrow around two o’clock might suffice?”
Mitch turned to Kiana with the same questioning look she’d given him a moment before.
“That would be ideal. Thank you, Professor O’Brien,” she said graciously.
Chapter 24
The Montrose Cabin
Suko awoke on the operating table in Dr. Joiner’s lab. An IV dripped into her left arm. The doctor occupied a chair next to the IV, watching the amber liquid pass through an attachment that had an LCD readout. She didn’t know what the numbers meant, although, for some reason, she didn’t particularly care.
“What’s happening?” Suko wheezed in a thin voice she found funny.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Dr. Joiner said, making a notation on a clipboard.
“Very perceptive,” she croaked. “What are you doing to me?”
“Getting to the truth.”
“Why—” Her throat seized. She swallowed hard to clear it. “May I have some water?”
“I can give you ice chips. In your compromised state you could aspirate on water.” Joiner tipped a dosing cup filled with ice chips to her mouth.
The frozen shards were unbelievably refreshing. “Thanks.”
He nodded.
“Compromised in what way?”
“It’s too complicated to explain. Just relax.”
“What are you putting into me?” she asked, looking up at the IV. Whatever it was made her feel rather tipsy. At least her vertigo was gone. The only real discomfort she sensed was the dryness in her throat . . . and a delightfully foggy feeling in her brain.
“It’s something new I’m working on.”
“Don’t hold back details,” she rasped. “I’m a scientist, remember?”
“It’s kind of like midazolam, but it targets the lambda receptors in your amygdala and nucleus accumbens, in addition to your GABA receptors, and compromises your desire to fabricate untruths.”
“Okay, that was a bit above my pay grade,” she said, willing her brain to focus. The rest of her body actually felt pretty darn good, as far as she could tell. “But thanks for trying. Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“It’s just a theory I have. Are you in any pain?”
“Nope. Just very lightheaded, but it feels . . . fun? I think I like it.”
It was mostly a true statement. In reality she felt disassociated and . . . and befuddled. That’s a funny word. But her befuddlement carried exceptionally little threat. Normally it did just the opposite. Being confused meant being out of control. This time, however, it made her feel strangely happy, kind of like being drunk but not really. It didn’t even bother her that she was being used as a guinea pig. Huh.
“Why are guinea pigs called pigs? They squeak, not oink.”
Dr. Joiner consulted the monitor, ignoring her question, then marked something on his clipboard. “Your brain should be cogent enough for a clinical exam now. I’m going to ask you some questions. First, what is your name?”
“Last I checked it was Suko Nakamura.” She came close to making up something ridiculous but for some reason didn’t.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. How old are you? Hey, that rhymes.”
“What do you do for work?”
“Laundry, cooking, cleaning my apartment. I help my parents in their garden too. Oh, and I volunteer at—”
“Who is your employer?”
“Portland State University.”
“Who is your direct supervisor?”
Suko wanted to swallow, but her mouth was dry again. “More ice, please.”
Joiner complied.
“Thanks. Why are you asking questions you already know the answers to?”
“Who is your direct supervisor?” he pressed.
“Dr. Mitchell Pine.”
“What is his field of expertise?”
“Oh, he knows all sorts of stuff, but mostly epidemiology and dendrochronology.”
“What is dendrochronology?”
“You sure ask a lot of dumb questions.”
“What is dendrochronology?”
“The study of tree rings. Can you turn down the lights? It’s awfully bright in here,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Why does he study tree rings?”
“To see what affect the climate had on specific dates in history.”
“And what has he found?”
“That tree ring patterns accurately show climate variations throughout history.”
“Because of climate change?”
“That’s what I just said. Did you actually graduate from a medical school?”
“And what has his study of tree rings shown him from an epidemiological standpoint?” the doctor persisted.
“That all major pandemics were preceded by dramatic changes in the climate.” Wait—should I be telling him this?
“And what caused those changes in climate?”
“Natural phenomena, naturally. Hey, did you see what I did there?”
“He didn’t mention anything about comets?”
She frowned. “No. But hey, what do spacemen get when they sit for too long? Asteroids!”
Joiner didn’t even smile. “What caused the changes in climate?”
“Not the burning of fossil fuels.”
“Was any specific climactic, natural, or unnatural event mentioned in Dr. Pine’s report?”
Suko considered his question. This was definitely something she shouldn’t be discussing without Mitch’s approval. But again, she felt no inhibitions answering any of J.J.’s questions. Trouble was, she hadn’t seen the entirety of Mitch’s report. After she had compiled and organized the data, he’d taken over drafting the rest of it.
“There was some stuff about atmospheric phenomena.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know. Stuff on recurring downturns in air quality, I think.”
“And that didn’t come from burning fossil fuels?”
She opened her eyes and frowned at him. “Again, did you ever graduate from any college?”
“Yes, Suko, I did.”
“The pandemics Mitch studied were in the sixth and fourteenth centuries. The industrial revolution didn’t start until the eighteenth century. So, no. It obviously wasn’t from fossil fuels.”
“Was there anything else?” he continued.
“I can’t think of anything specific. I’m not sure what it is you’re
looking for.”
Joiner studied her face for a long silent moment. He adjusted the drip on the IV and checked her pupils. He then felt her carotid artery and fixated on his wristwatch for a full minute. Suko found herself fascinated with his every move. Everything he did looked like an underwater ballet. As she waited for him to do . . . well, anything, she delighted in the weightless, gauzy feeling in her head and the tingling throughout her body. It was a vast improvement over the constant headache and vertigo she’d had since she got to the cabin.
Joiner lowered his watch and checked her pupils again. “How do
you feel?”
“Cloud nine. How about you?”
“What were the unique environmental phenomena mentioned in Dr. Pine’s report?”
Suko gave a pronounced, impish smile. J.J. now seemed to be levitating a few inches off the ground. That was silly. Why would he do that when there was clearly a ceiling he’d bump into? Not to mention all those surgical things dangling overhead. Then he’d be the one with a headache.
“I think . . .”
“You think what?”
“I think . . . you’re fascinating. How do you float like that?”
The doctor frowned. “Concentrate, Suko. Were there any specific phenomena Dr. Pine mentioned in his report?”
She shook her head from side to side in a greatly exaggerated arc. “Nope, nope, nope. Why do you keep asking me that? I’ve answered the same question a dozen times. That means twelve. And how do you float like that? It’s totally rad. If you could teach that to the Portland Trail Blazers, they’d be unbeatable.”
“I’m not floating in the air, Suko.”
“Really? That’s too bad. It looks fun. Hey, speaking of which, you know what I’ve decided? You’re not as weird-looking as you’d think for a psychopathic neurosurgeon. But you could use a haircut.”
“Okay,” Dr. Joiner said, decreasing the drip frequency of her IV. “I think you’ve had enough truth juice.”
“I have? Oh. That’s too bad. My headache is totally gone.” She rolled her head to one side. “As long as you’re at it, remove the ear bug you installed without my permission, would you? Thanks. Good night, doctor.”
Chapter 25
Dublin, Ireland
Barely beating a storm that was half rain, half snow, Mitch and Kiana picked up their overnight bags from the airport then checked into the Westin Dublin, a five-star hotel directly adjacent to Trinity College.
The hotel was posh to an extreme, including a doorman in top hat and tails. Although it was still November, the foyer was already festooned with breathtaking Christmas décor. Kiana walked past the reception counter and up to the concierge desk like she’d done it a thousand times before. The well-dressed man sitting at the desk was talking on the phone. He held up two fingers, asking for a couple of minutes. Kiana withdrew from her purse a glossy black credit card with a small, blood-red fleur-de-lis in the center, and slid it directly in front of him. The man’s eyes widened instantly. He hung up without saying goodbye.
“Good evening, madam. H-how may I be of service?” he stammered.
As Kiana ordered adjoining rooms, Mitch wandered away, taking in the turn-of-the-century architecture. A wall display showed black-and-white photographs with accompanying narratives, each telling some unique aspect of the building’s long history. From a high-class tavern floated the lilting melodies of Celtic music. There was no way Mitch could ever afford a place like this. What was Edgar into that made it so he could?
Kiana soon collected Mitch, and they rode the elevator to the top floor.
“Holy cow!” Mitch gasped as they walked into one of two adjoining suites. The floors were tiled in marble, the walls were lined with cherry wood wainscoting and bordered with gold-leaf cornicing, and the furniture was swathed in rich period upholstery. A natural-gas fire danced in a malachite hearth. Several dozen fresh roses bloomed from a huge crystal vase on a center table. The place was sectioned into three distinct areas for business, entertainment, and sleeping, each with what looked like museum-quality furnishings. “Does my room look like this?”
“I imagine so.”
“You sure you can afford two of these?”
“I have limitless credit,” she said, waving her glossy black card. “It’s my ‘no-restrictions, go-anywhere, buy-anything card.’”
