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"But we might force him to tell a better grade of lie," said Cole. "And he might tell the truth. When he was using the big EMP weapon in New York, he was trying to take over the U.S. Doesn't mean he's not patriotic, he just hated the previous president. Why should he hate this one?"
The guys looked around at one another, faces showing nothing—but the fact that they looked at one another meant something.
"Absolutely right," said Cat. "Aldo Verus would have no reason to hate this president."
Again, there was an ugly implication: That Torrent was exactly the president Aldo Verus wanted to install.
But this was not the time to go into a discussion like this—not with four embassy personnel on the chopper, even if they were huddled miserably at the back. And the jeesh were talking through the Noodles, so there was no way they could be overheard, and they had their breathing masks on, there was no way a lip-reader could make sense of anything they said. But for all they knew, the Army kept a recording of everything they said over the Noodles. So when this discussion came, it needed to be under better circumstances than this.
They refueled in midair just inside the Cameroon border, and then returned to Calabar and set down on the university grounds just south of the medical school. They all got out of the chopper, but the rescued embassy staffers transferred directly to a Marine chopper and headed out to sea. The Marines were wearing complete hazmat suits, and the message was clear: Nobody knew whether the hostages had been exposed to the nictovirus during their close association with Idi de Gaulle's bandits, so they were going to be quarantined for a while.
A month? Or was there a blood test that would give results sooner?
Just how good are our breathing masks? Cole wondered. We were in awfully close proximity to these guys, or at least the men who carried them were.
After the Marine chopper lifted off and swung out toward the ocean, Cole took off his breathing mask. So did the rest of the jeesh, one by one.
"Wouldn't it be just our luck," said Benny, "to take all this trouble saving them, only they already caught the nicto and so they all die anyway."
"I don't know," said Mingo. "I think it would be their shitty luck, not ours."
"Ah, General Coleman, to smell fresh air again!"
Cole turned to Cat, who was taking a deep breath and stretching.
Then, suddenly, Cat made an almost convulsive movement forward, bending at the waist. It brought his face within inches of Cole's, and at that exact moment, he sneezed.
Cole felt the spray all over his face. Instinctively he recoiled, but part of recoiling is also a quick inhalation. A gasp. Drawing whatever was still in the air from the sneeze deep into Cole's lungs.
"Cat," said Cole. "What the hell?"
"It was kind of a surprise for me, too," said Cat. "Don't worry, not every sneeze is the nictovirus. I always sneezed coming out of scuba gear. Change of air, you know."
Cole leaned close and whispered in Cat's ear. "Bullshit."
Cat just laughed and turned away. "Suit yourself," he said.
"No," said Cole. "You guys have all been 'suiting yourselves,' and I want to know what this is about."
They were far from any of the university buildings, the Noodles were off, and the chopper crew certainly couldn't hear them as they worked on refueling and checking out their bird. This was as good a place as any.
"Aw, guys, the general saw through our li
ttle show," said Mingo. "Don't worry, Cat, you did a good job, he's just smart, that's all."
"What little show?" asked Cole.
"There's no way to get home from this assignment," said Mingo, "as long as we haven't caught the nictovirus. Because we might have it. So they're going to leave us here for a long, long time."
"And we don't want to," said Arty. "Don't get me wrong, we love our job, it's been great. We've just got a few things to do in the States. So if we get the nictovirus, and then live through it, we're immune, right? So we can go home and come back, go home and come back."
Babe added, "I got the idea from Chinma. There he was, straight from Nigeria, right from the heart of the epidemic, and yet he walks into a conference room in the White House and the President puts his arm around his shoulders and nobody bats an eye. Because he's immune, see? The safest houseguest in the world."
"Great plan," said Cole, "except for the thirty percent kill-off. Or more."
"We thought of that," said Benny, "and we decided that we'd just have to chance it. We'll never get home till we've had the nicto. Right? So better at a time of our choosing. Whoever dies, dies."
"Did it ever occur to you I might not feel that way?" asked Cole.
