Resistant by Michael Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

it was just his ears playing tricks, he decided. The data Pollack sent came through the decryption program just fine.
    “I’ve received it,” Kazimi said.
    “You’ll see that my latest approach does appear to inhibit bacterial protein synthesis, and that I’m also inhibiting ribosomal translocation. The main problem continues to be speed—killing the little beasties fast enough to overwhelm their ability to mutate and gain resistance. If we can accomplish that, the very elements that have been working against us will be working for us.”
    “Very good,” Kazimi responded. “Give me a minute to review the findings in more detail.”
    He saw the problem in a matter of seconds. Another scientist may have needed a day or two to spot the glitch, like finding a needle in a haystack of data, but not Kazimi.
    “The bacteriostatic agent you have been using is getting in the way,” he said.
    “Perhaps … No, wait. I see what you mean. I see exactly what you mean. Let me test the drug with a different one.”
    “And with none at all.”
    Again Kazimi thought he heard something in Pollack’s transmission—an electronic shimmer that briefly distorted his voice.
    Had they been compromised?
    The architects of the Doomsday Germ were not to be underestimated. They had created an organism more sophisticated than anything he had ever seen. He would not have been all that surprised if they had somehow gained access to these secure transmissions. If so, it might result in an acceleration of the timetable they’d issued.
    Kazimi shuddered at the thought and debated whether to include this new suspicion in his daily report. A false alarm could raise concerns about his mental state. He’s hearing things, they might say, becoming paranoid. Every person, even someone with his penchant for solitude, has a breaking point. He feared tipping the scales in a way that could risk his involvement with the project. He had come too far, given up too much, not to see this to the end.
    “Nothing to be disappointed about,” he said, rubbing at the grit stinging his eyes. “You’ve done well, Dr. Pollack.”
    “And how about the other players in the game?”
    The game.
    Again Kazimi felt a pang of guilt for the ongoing deception, but it was a necessary precaution. Nobody could know about the very real threat facing America. The only people, as far as he was aware, who knew the specifics of his research were the president, the vice president, and a few select members of the president’s cabinet. The CIA and FBI, each investigating things from different angles, had to have amassed vast amounts about One Hundred Neighbors, but the inner circle with full knowledge of the threat the terrorists were presenting was limited to the most essential personnel. Even the smallest leak about the threat facing the nation would likely cause panic on an epic scale.
    “Do you have another piece of the problem for me to try, or would you prefer I keep working on this one?” Pollack went on.
    “Yes, keep working. The others will have a look at these data as well. We’re doing great.”
    Another lie. Kazimi had been dishing them out like Halloween candy ever since he gave up his life to go underground. The truth was they were fast running out of time.
    “You know, I’m really enjoying this little exercise of ours,” Pollack said. “Much more so than I thought when you first approached me. I’m glad I decided to come aboard.”
    There it was again—an audible phase shift in Pollack’s voice. Kazimi decided this was definitely something to go on his report. He might be wrong, but it was worth the risk. Even if it turned out to be nothing, NSA experts would probably have a new encryption program installed by morning.
    Kazimi checked the time on the wall-mounted digital clock. Five-thirty. Soon he would need to recite the Isha, the fifth of the daily prayers offered by practicing Muslims. He always prayed alone in his bedroom upstairs, never in