 
### EXTINCTION LEVEL EVENT

Jose Pino Johansson

Table of Contents

1. Prologue . . . . p2

2. Contamination . . . . p5

3. The Agencies . . . . p27

4. Propagation . . . . p91

5. A Can of Worms . . . . p154

6. CSI: Deniability . . . . p230

7. Catch Him if You Can . . . p260

8. Extinction Level Event . . . p277

9. Epiphanies . . . p345

Appendix & References . . . p357

01 PROLOGUE

" _...it may be doubted if there are any other animals which have played such an important part in the history of the world as these lowly organized creatures_ **."**

-Charles Darwin

A long, dark corridor. Only a thin beam of artificial light seeps in through tiny glass panels from an adjacent room, illuminating the opaque hallway. Utilitarian, crepuscular tiles and metallic, whitewashed walls lend an eerie feeling to an already abandoned, seemingly forgotten location. Yet, the spotless cleanliness and highly sterile nature of the hallway indicates the presence of people who have deserted the place for some unknown reason. There is no sound in the stygian environment. Rather, the empty expanse is a sea of complete silence. Here, even the buzzing of a fly's wings would seem louder than a skyscraper construction crew. Utter silence reigns.

Footsteps break the hallowed silence of the mysterious and eerie hallway. A dark human shape moves through, barely visible in the nearly light-less space to anyone who may be looking. The steady yet quiet steps of the man's shoe soles resonate against the tiled floor. The man is the only moving object in the room, a flurry of motion in a long expanse of tranquility. The echoes of the man's formal wear shoes bounce back from the walls, like a bat's sonar. Only these waves, unlike those of the bat, disturb the perceived environment to any human outsider. Just like the bat, the man's walk is quiet, confident, and purposeful. The reverberations slowly die out, to be replaced by new ones generated as the man continues his stealthy gait.

The man stops at a barely visible door, the outline made visible only be the light from the man's cell phone, which he uses to illuminate the path around him. The cold, steel door in front of him has no windows, no knob, no keyhole, and no keyboard. Merely a magnetic swipe machine, which controls access through the portal. Seemingly undeterred by this, the man pulls out a card on a chain and proceeds to slide it through the swipe machine. A dim red light above the machine turns to a bright green, followed by the _thack-thack_ sound of heavy locks being retracted within the door. With apparent familiarity with the system, the man pushes the door open, and enters the guarded room beyond.

Inside lies another dark and obscure room, this one lighted by dim green light. The room, approximately fifteen meters on each end, houses an array of state-of-the-art laboratory equipment, from multimillion dollar microscopes to a cryogenics quarantine capsule. The man walks over to a small pedestal in the center of the room, where a cylindrical object approximately the size of a human head lies. The object is attached to numerous tubing devices and a small LCD screen and monitor. Bold print stating the warning "Caution: Hazardous Material" faces bluntly outwards towards any who may, in the unlikely event, see the cylinder as an object of curiosity. The man steps up to the cylindrical device and pushes a button located on the side of the cylinder. Promptly a hissing sound emerges, followed by the top of the cylinder rotating slightly. The man pushes the top cone of the cylinder upwards, allowing deathly cold gases to escape from the device. Inside, arranged in a circular pattern, are six small vials. With the vials' cryofreezing process seemingly disrupted, the man puts on a pair of latex gloves.

Reaching into the cylinder, the gloves draw out one of the encased glass vials. Carefully opening a small case he brought along and placed onto the table, the man carefully and diligently places the vial in the case. The hand reaches into the cylinder to draw a second vial and place it adjacent to the first in the case.

The man returns the large metallic lid onto the top of the cylinder, sealing it shut. The lid snaps back on with a hiss, leaving the man alone with the case. He closes the case, and slowly, silently walks out of the chamber the same way he entered. This time, no card is required to access the space beyond- merely the turning of a knob. The man leaves the laboratory room and closes the door behind him, making sure to lock the multitude of locks. Satisfied that every conceivable trace of his presence has been removed, the man walks back out the corridor from whence he came from. His silhouetted figure retreats into the darkness, the echo of his footsteps quietly dying out as he fades into the blackness. Then there is nothing at all, as if the empty corridor was not graced by anyone's presence, as it seemingly was meant to be. An ominous dark emptiness once again pervaded the arena, seemingly forgotten by the outside world.

02- CONTAMINATION

The central valley of California is a greenish-yellow, botanical expanse. Free of the dense, smog covered urban encroachment that lines the California coastline and bays, the interior of the state is a paradise of sorts for farms, villages, and small towns. The shining peaks of the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky Mountains come up to the west of these towns, providing a magnificent, whitish glowing background. Naturally growing plants are supplanted by artificially growing ones, primarily in on the lands of farms. Many of these farms have many acres of farmland, growing corn, wheat, potatoes, various dairy products, and other foods stuffs.

Michelle Williams is one ordinary California resident who lives next to one of these farms. A small-time lawyer, she works in the town center in the nearest town, Oakridge. Although she does not own a farm, she does own two acres of land, and uses one acre to grow a large, home-grown garden of vegetables and fruits that she shares with her family. The garden was started by her grandparents, during World War II. At the time, it was called a "victory garden" by the media and the government, who encouraged Americans to grow their own food to help with the war effort. In subsequent years the garden was expanded and enlarged, becoming quite sizable and very beneficial to all the family's generations.

All the family members, including her husband and two younger children, help out with the work on the garden. Today it is 6:12pm, and Michelle is returning from another long day at the office to an evening's rest at home. Before leaving herself free to take a break, Michelle follows her daily habit of tending to the garden, in order to make sure that some work is done every day. She thinks it is a good habit, as it enforces a routine into the children's lives and makes sure that the garden receives maintenance every day. As it is mid-summer August, the sun shines on until nine, providing plenty of sunlight for the job.

She opens the door to her eighteen-hundred square-foot house, and sets her carrying bag on the table besides the door, next to the shoe closet. "Mommy!", her little daughter Sarah, 5, runs up and gives Michelle a hug. Returning the embrace warmly before picking her up in her arms, Michelle walks over into the dining room where her mother is sitting. "How's she been today?", inquires Michelle. Her mother, Annette, a woman of 69, replies, "Not too bad. Today we went out for another walk around the farm lands, watered the top part of the garden, and guess what else?", she exclaims excitedly. "No! She did not start sewing!" groans Michelle, only half-jokingly. "No. Of course not! Don't be silly, she's still too young for that! But we did do another puzzle today."

"Ohh, I see. Hey Mom, I'm going out to take care of the garden for about half an hour. Is Mike home yet?". "Not yet, dear", replies Annette. "Fine.". Michelle heads to the bathroom and gets out of her lawyer apparatus. _No more spiffyness today_ , she thinks to herself for the hundredth time. She then goes into the garage, which is designed for two cars but fits only one since they used one half of the space to store various things, some completely unnecessary. Putting on some gardening gloves, gardening trousers, taking out a rake and heads outside, she thinks- _Wait, I don't need raking today. We did that just two days ago. Let's see, what else is there?_ Michelle walks back into the garage, and starts going through the shelf on which they store all of their gardening tools and appliances. _Whats this? Groundup SuperPower? Letsee. Oh, yes of course. That's the new herbicide that Mike bought yesterday. He said it was brand new, and should work like nothing before it has._ _Hmmmm, another MalSanto product? Oh well, might as well try it out today._

Grabbing the large can of herbicide, Michelle heads outdoors for the garden. She starts dosing the garden with the pesticide, spraying the leaves of the tomato plants before moving to the asparagus plants and onwards to a few poplar trees that are in the garden for decoration. Dosing most of the garden, she realizes that the can is quickly emptying itself.. _It is a big garden. Still, this can is going quicker than I thought it would. Well, we'll how good it is in a few weeks._ After an hour, she returns to the garage just in time to see Mike's red Honda Civic pulling into the driveway. _Now we can all get dinner and head to bed._

Miles Farm

One of the farmers living adjacent to Michelle's property is Greg Miles. His farm is a medium sized enterprise for a farmer, covering many acres. On one side, next to the residential houses near Lake Road, corn is grown. Lots of corn, enough to feed his cattle. _Because cattle is where the money is. Everyone's obsessed with beef. You, me, and I, we want a hamburger. And cereal with milk please. American beef too, not that imported Argentinian crap._ The other side of Lake Road is the pasture where Greg keeps his cattle. Let's face it, if the cattle were kept on the side that the corn is currently grown on Greg would have many a lawsuit on his hands. Cattle are notorious for the quantity of methane that they produce, which is why Greg sensibly keeps them as far from civilization as humanly possible. The neighbors would throw a fit if they were any closer. _As much as I like them, I really hate it when they give me trouble. Like that one time._

He keeps over a hundred cattle living around on the free-range farm. Between himself, a few ranch hands, large modern harvesters, and the new Siemens self-milking systems of which Greg bought four, the farm is quite productive. The harvesters harvest tons of grain at a time and need only one driver to operate. The cows, when they feel their udders to be full, are taught to use the self-milking machines. The machines then milk the cow themselves, leaving Greg a little extra time that he could use for other things. Greg makes enough income to pay his ranch hands and pocket enough himself to keep expanding his acreage every year. Greg even bought himself a boat last year, and although he doesn't use it often, he sees it as a sign that the last four years were quite good.

Things were quite horrible before they became better. Miles had to deal with an infection of foot-and-mouth disease on his farm, one which he would never forget very easily. Foot-and-mouth disease is a vicious disease that attacks cattle without mercy when infected. The disease, which is caused by the FMD virus, can usually be quickly identified by lesions that form around the tongue and feet of the animal, hence the disease's name. The hooves and the mouth develop extensive lesions after a few days of exposure. The virus comes in three strains, C, A, and O, of which O has been determined through many experiments to be the most unpredictable and prone to resistance. The disease is so unpredictable that the United States prevents the importing of any beef from a country that had even one case of foot-and-mouth disease. Salted, frozen beef was once believed safe from the virus until experiments demonstrated a survival of the virus in lymph nodes in the salt-cured beef. Despite years of research, the only known cure for foot-and-mouth disease is repeated vaccination of cattle.

Even though he knew that all of his cattle were vaccinated, inadvertently one of them and was a mutant and when the disease showed up, it immediately picked up the scent and struck with full force against that one cow. He lost the cow, had the entire farm quarantined for a period of over six months, and had to pay a hefty fine for "keeping unvaccinated" cattle on the farm against the U.S. Department of Agriculture regulations. He was pissed, upset, frustrated, and embarrassed by that episode and fervently hoped that nothing similar would ever happen again. The best he could do was get every cow a second vaccination and vaccinate every new one that he bought, just to be sure. New calves would be vaccinated multiple times soon after birth. He makes sure that none stray too far from the ranch, and put up extra tall and sturdy fences all around his cattle lands to make sure that all the cattle stay close together. Yet, four years henceforth, Greg Miles still does not know where the virus originated from or whether it will strike again. He also doesn't know if one of his cows is carrying a carrier form of the virus, which could be a threat to new calves or newcomers to the farm; in addition to still being deadly to humans. All of these problems leave him worrying in bed during many nights, unable to get more than a few hours of sleep. However, for the moment, he simply uses his free time to relax on the farm, go boating on occasion, and hope for the best.

2 Days Later

At 6:30am the alarm emits a ringing, piercing screech that would jolt a man like Mr. Freeze out of bed. Today, Michelle and Mike get up, rubbing their eyes groggily, as they contemplate another work day. _But it's Friday, so a weekend is right around the corner. And anyways, my job is occasionally fun._ Michelle gets up, picks up some underwear and socks from her closet and heads to the shower. After showering, dressing, eating breakfast, doing her hair, and putting a touch of make-up on Michelle deems herself ready to head to work by 8:12 am. She hears Mike getting out of the shower as she walks into the master bedroom to fetch the car keys. The kids and their grandmother are still sleeping upstairs. Michelle puts the keys in her purse, throws a glance at her watch, and heads for the door. She opens the door to the garage, gets in her car, and pulls it out of the driveway. Getting out of the car she walks over to close the garage. _When are we going to fix that remote?_ Closing the garage by hand, she starts to head back to the car when she notices the phenomenon on the ground. _What the-?_

Worms! The ground around the house is crawling with worms. Wriggling, writhing, creepy-crawly worms all over the driveway, all over the yard! "What the hell??", wonders Michelle out loud _. Is this normal? They are everywhere! Oh my God, should I tell Mike? We didn't have rain today or yesterday, did we? No!_ Heading back into the house, she runs into Mike, putting his pants on over his boxers. "Mike!". Mike, a six foot-tall man of 40-odd years with almost no beer belly, turns around with a mildly surprised look on his face, "Hey Babe, what's up? Didn't forget the car keys again, did you?". "Honey, I just got out with the car, and there are all these worms outside? Whats going on? Did you do something?". "No.", replies Mike, now genuinely surprised. "What worms?" "Worms, Mike, worms. They're all over our front yard, crawling around like we just had a thunderstorm!". "Weird. Lemme see". Mike pulls on a button-up shirt, and heads for the door with Michelle behind him. He slips on a pair of flip-flops and steps outside.

"Jeez. You're right. Look at 'em!" exclaims Mike once out the door, "This really is weird. What's happening? Is the ground like too moist or something?? How much did those kids water the plants?" "I really don't know honey", replies Michelle, "we'll have to ask them about it". "It doesn't really matter. Just leave them for the time being, they'll go back in after a while." "Are you sure," Michelle asks worriedly. "Yeah definitely, babe. Just look at 'em. By the time we're back from work this evening they'll be back in the ground and nothing to worry about. You'll see.". "Ok, fine". "Lemme finish up breakfast, and get going you. Hey, you should too," chuckles Mike, and with a mischievous wave he gets back into the house and closes the door behind him. Michelle turns around and gets into her car. Revving up the engine, she turns around and gets onto the road. _They'll be gone by the time I get back,_ says Michelle to herself. Not giving too much more thought to the matter, Michelle heads for her firm office and doesn't look back. Little does she know that this miniscule little incident could be the beginning of a much greater problem.

Miles Farm

_A day in the Corps is like a day on the farm. Every meal a banquet, every paycheck a fortune. I love the Corps!._ _Aliens_ happens to be one of Greg's favorite movies, and that line by the character Sergeant Apone often keeps him working throughout the day on his farm. Getting out of bed, he puts on some flip-flops. Walking out of the farmhouse, he goes over to the chicken range and, after a minute of looking around, finds himself two eggs. _Ahh, breakfast!_ He brings the two eggs into the house, breaking them and throwing the contents into a frying pan. Simultaneously he throws two pieces of toast into the toaster and opens the fridge door. Taking out coffee, he puts the coffee in the coffee-pot to start heating it up. After about five minutes, his breakfast is complete and he puts everything onto a tray and plops it down onto the small wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. A routine for many people around the globe, breakfast for Greg Miles starts at generally 6:15am, earlier than many of his fellow human beings. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, cheese on toast, tomatoes and coffee Greg feels ready to get to work. Utilizing his "new" dishwasher, he throws his silverware into the machine and heads out of the farmhouse.

Along the path to the cow-house, where the self-milking machines are located, Greg notices some worms on the ground. Kneeling down to check them out, he steps on a bunch and then realizes that there are hundreds of them out of the earth. _What the ----? It didn't rain recently, what the hell is this?_ Miles leans down and scoops a handful of dirt up with his right arm. _Definitely didn't rain, the earth isn't wet enough. Why are they all coming out of the ground? Its like seawater is coming in and driving them out._ Greg gets up and continues to walk the remaining hundred meters to the cow-house. He sees the same phenomenon all along the path. Earthworms are burrowing out of the ground in the thousands, wriggling slowly and meticulously on top of the earth. Making a mental note to check back on the sudden rise of the worms, Greg walks into the cow-house to check the milk containers and carry to milk to the silo where he keeps it all. Some milk will be sent to another location to be frozen and put in cartons, the rest will be processed to become yogurt and various sorts of cheeses. After taking care of the new milk, Greg walks over again to the chickens to give them their feed. _All in a days work. Wow, even more worms. . . ._

9 hours later. . .

Michelle Williams returns home from work tired and hungry. _To hell with work on the garden today. Straight to dinner._ Realizing that Mike's car is already parked in the garage, she pulls into her driveway and parks next to the front door, in the only available parking spot since one of the houses' two garage is full of tools. Turning off the car, she grabs her purse and a file folder next to it and gets out of the car. In the dark, she doesn't see much on the ground, and walks into her house quickly. The kids are watching a television show, which they're only allowed to do since its Friday night and their favorite shows run throughout Friday afternoon. Grandmother is sitting in a chair sewing a sweater. Michelle heads into the kitchen, sees a pot of soup cooked probably a few hours ago, and a box of chicken nuggets in the fridge. Deciding that that would be enough for dinner, she eats, changes, and goes to bed.

The next morning, Mike unusually goes out the door even earlier than Michelle. Just when she thinks he's headed off to work already, he returns inside with an odd look on his face, as if he had just eater a very bitter lemon. "About those worms. . . they're still all out there", he states grimly. "What do you mean, still out there? I thought you said they wouldn't be there today," asks Michelle not liking the news, . "well, they are, and . . . its really odd. . . they're just. . . all, like. Dead.".

"Dead?" Shocked into silence, Michelle simply sits stone-cold, contemplating the thought over and over again. "Dead?". "Yeah, all of them. It's like a graveyard. All those worms coming out yesterday or the day before, they're all just lying out there dead. It's a mess." Mike just slumps into a sofa with the same odd sour look upon his face, and grimaces. "We're gonna have to clean up, and it's a big mess. I don't want dead worms all over our yard". Michelle simply sits in silence, going over the strange turn of events over the last two days. Mike just sits looking like a man stunned, multiple unknown thoughts flicking across his face.

"Alright. We've got a lot of worms, but that's not a problem. Lets get ready, and do this together. You get the brooms, I'll get the trash bin and a spade. We clean it up in about two hours, and case closed. We don't have to talk about this again", says Mike. Michelle replies kindly, "ok. But how did they die like that? We should think about that before simply sweeping them away and forgetting about it. What happens if it happens again?"

"I don't know," Mike slowly murmurs, twisting his fingers around in a way he usually does when thinking. Several seconds pass. "But we don't have to worry about that". Let's just clean it up. If there's a problem tomorrow, we ask someone". "Fine, I guess. So let's do this?" replies Michelle. The couple gets off the chairs that they were sitting on and move with a renewed sense of purpose.

The next hour and a half are spent sweeping the patio, the backyard, and the front yard of worms. Tired, worn out from both work and the strange ordeal, the two decide that it is enough work for one day. Most of the area around the house seems to be cleared of worms. The couple looks at each other, each with a broom in one hand and a spade in the other. "You think we should go in now? I can hardly see anything anymore". "Yeah, me too. I'm so tired, and I think we're done here." "Lets go to bed".

The next morning, when Michelle steps out of the house for some fresh air, she notices that there are no worms lying on the ground. _Well, thank God. Looks like that dilemma finally ended._ Michelle smiled, and knew that whatever happened, it wouldn't repeat itself again. Still smiling, she went back into the house after picking up her mail.

Miles Farm

Gregory Miles couldn't believe his eyes. _All these critters- dead!_ _How? And why?_ Greg paces around his farmhouse, thinking of what to do. Every worm in the vicinity of the farmhouse seems to have decided to leave the safety of the earth, crawl out on top, curl up and die. He couldn't explain it at all. He had never seen anything like this.

Gregory Miles decides to wait for an hour until two of his ranch hands, Jeffrey and Miguel, show up. _Then we can work together and clean this friggin' mess up. What the hell is this? Some kind of mass extinction?_ Miles walks along the path between his farmhouse and the cows' field. All along the dirt path he sees dead worm carcasses littering the path, as well as throughout the shrubbery along the path. He keeps going over what could have caused such devastation on his fairly small, supposedly secure farm. _Now I know I didn't water the plants too much. The grounds' not soggy at all. And I sure as hell didn't friggin' salt the ground. That would be suicide._ "Shit", mutters Miles to himself. It is the only answer he can come up with.

An hour later, Jeffrey and Miguel show up in their pick-up truck. "Hey boys, look here. We've got a major problem today- no regular chores. I need you both to help me clean all this land of some mad, bad worms that died out today. Got it? Get brooms, shovels, and we'll sweep 'em and dig 'em in", orders Greg to the two. The two, both young adults working for extra cash, look slightly puzzled. "worms, sir?", inquires Jeffrey politely. "Yes, dammit worms! You'll see 'em as you walk around, eh? Just get those brooms and stuff and let's meet by the farmhouse". "Sure thing Mr. Miles!", reply the two men simultaneously, and run off to fetch the required tools.

Cleaning up the fields is hard work, especially so since Miles doesn't know how wide the affected area from the worm die-out is. Nervously these thoughts course through his mind as he works alongside Jeffrey and Miguel. _This could be a bigger problem than I thought. Maybe I should call someone, like the cops. They'll know someone who'll know someone who knows what to do. I can't do shit 'bout this._ With that resolution in mind, after five straight hours of work in the fields, along with large hats on their heads to shield them from the intense sunlight, Greg drops his tools and tells his ranch hands to do the same. They go over to get some drinks and take a break. Greg goes into his house to dial the phone. There are important calls to be made.

Back at the Williams' home, five days after the original outbreak of worms Michelle steps outside of her house and once again sees the same nightmare. Worms by the hundreds are all over her front yard, and this time she knows that they will probably soon die. Michelle spins around and heads into her home. In the living room she grabs a phone by the armchair and dials 911. "Hello 911 here. How may we help?" "Hi, this is Michelle Williams. This isn't an emergency, but I need help. I have worms crawling all over my yard and they are dying by the hundreds. Whom do I call? I need help really badly. I want to know what's going on". "You need to call the Department of Agriculture. They should be able to help you. You can reach them at the following number." The lady provides Michelle with a contact. "Thank you for your time. I'll call them right away", replies Michelle curtly as she sets down the phone.

"Good Morning, US Dept. of Agriculture. If you wish to leave a message, press one. If you wish to refer to our seed policy, press two. If you wish to speak to a service representative, press three". Punching three, Michelle is greeted by the usual melodramatic orchestra of telephone waiting music. "Our customer service representatives are all busy right now. Please wait, and one will be with you shortly". Seven minutes later into the conversation, a representative picks up his end of the line. "Good Morning. US Department of Agriculture, Stockton Office".

"Hi. This is Michelle Williams from California. I recently have had a huge number of worms come out of the ground and die in my yard. Do you know what might have caused this? "Sorry, could you repeat that? A huge number of worms came out of the ground and died?" "Yes". The representative pauses for a second, trying to make sense of the information that he had just received, "Did they all come out at the same time?" "Yes, all out one morning and dead the next, really". "And you say you don't know the cause?" "Not off the top of my head, no". "Did you notice any unusual activity beforehand". "No, not that I can remember". "Hold please." "Sure". Michelle hears a hand come over the other phone's speaker as the representative talks to another person in the agency.

"Hello? Mrs Williams?" "Yes, I'm here." "Ok, we're sending someone over to your place. Your address is?" "It is 16 Lake Road, Oakridge, California". "Very well. They should be over in about three hours. Have a great day". "Thanks, you too!", replies Michelle before hanging up. _Listen to the irony of that- have a great day! Even if my tire is flat, my taxes still have to be paid, and there are dead worms in my yard, what should I do? Have a great day!_ Michelle turns around and walks over to the fridge to get some orange juice. "What was that all about babe?" Mike walks in, to drink his daily coffee cup before heading off to work. "We've got the worms outside again hun". "AGAIN? What the hell is going on? I thought we took care of that two days ago!" shouts Mike, more than a little irritated. "I don't know honey, but they're out there, and I've call the Department of Agriculture so they can come over and take a look. We can't do this on our own". "The Department of Agriculture is coming over? When?" asks Mike, now curious, while sipping on his coffee. "In about three hours, he said", replies Michelle. "Ok fine. I guess that should be a good thing. Tell them about all the problems we had with those things for the last three days. You going to work today?" "Actually, I'm probably going to be late at the very least. Maybe I should take a day off. But I don't have too many more of those I can take", states Michelle matter-of-factly. "Just take it. You could definitely use a break, especially with this. Take it easy. Make sure those Agriculture guys get every detail. I want this problem fixed.", With that said, Mike finishes his coffee and walks heads to the garage. Michelle hears the car start, and after a minute of warm-up Mike pulls out of the garage onto Lake Road and heads off to work.

Michelle decides to wash the dishes and dust the shelves in the living room before the Agriculture specialist shows up. After changing into something more comfortable, even though by this time her work clothes _were_ getting comfortable; Michelle washes the breakfast dishes, puts a new cloth on the kitchen table, and sets up the kids'cereal. She then starts to dust the tops of the book shelf and the glass silverware table in the living room. After thirty minutes, Mike Jr, 8, comes slowly down the stairs, "Mom?" "Yes dear, I'm here. Mommy's not going to work today. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen." "Sweet!". Mike Jr. goes over to the kitchen and pours himself a bowl of honey-nut _Cheerios!_. "Mom, when are we going to get Frooty-Loops? I'm getting sick of Cheerios". "Baby, you're getting them after we finish those Cheerios. I'm not going to go over this again. We already bought way too many cheerios last time at the supermarket after you asked for them". "Oh, whatever. It's so unfair", remarks Mike Jr, in the very usual way kids remark that everything is "unfair". That though seemingly out of his mind, he quietly goes back to eating the cereal.

Mike Jr. then goes over to the living room and turns on the television. After ten minutes, "Mike, get up and start showering or you're going to be late for the bus. I'm not driving you to school". "Ok, Mom!". Stabbing the remote and turning off the television, Mike Jr. hurries upstairs. Michelle soon hears the shower turn on, and she gets back to cleaning the flower vase. Carefully removing the turquoise flowers out of the vase and placing them in a different one, she turns the vase around and sprays it. Cleaning it carefully, she then takes it and dumps the water into the sink. Filling it with fresh water, she replaces the flowers into the vase and puts it back in its normal resting place.

After fifteen minutes, Mike Jr. comes hurrying down the stairs with his backpack on his back and carrying a notebook between his elbow and body. "Hurry on. The bus should be here any minute now" "I know, Mom". Mike runs out the front door and within a minute Michelle hears the school bus's familiar engine noise as it rumbles down the road. After it stops briefly and then continues going, Michelle feels she can get back to work. _Well, that's kind of enough work for right now. Lets rest a little._ _What should I do now?_ She picks up a cooking book from the bookshelf and starts to look through it for any new recipe that may seem interesting. _Maybe not that. How about this?_ Putting down the first cook book, she picks up another- Southeast Asian Home Recipes. _Perhaps something a little more exotic?_ The delicious aromas of fried rice and seafood pop out from the book and entice her to continue reading when the phone rings.

"Hello?". "Hi, this is Peter LaJoy. I'm from the Department of Agriculture. I just wanted to tell you that I should be at your house in approximately ten minutes". "Sure, no problem". "See you then". The connection breaks.

After ten more minutes, a black Ford Taurus pulls into the driveway. A slightly balding, thin man with spectacles comes out. The man carries a camera around his neck, and is wearing a pair of casual dress-pants with a button-up white work shirt. Michelle sees the car and comes out of her door. Extending his hand to her, he introduces himself, "Hi, I'm Peter LaJoy with the Department of Agriculture. Pete for short. Pleased to meet you". "Michelle Williams. You got here a little early". "The traffic conditions weren't too bad, this morning most of the traffic was going the other way. Lucky for me. So, what seems to be the problem? You said the worms were coming out of the ground and dying all over the yard?", inquires Pete. "Yes, exactly that. I'll show you". Michelle, followed closely by Peter, go around the house along the asphalt path to the garden. "Yeah, I definitely see what you're talking about now. This is odd. Really odd. All over the place.", comments Peter, while taking out a paper and pen. Michelle stops near the garden and points to all the dead worms that are littered over the yard. Peter nods in response, while scribbling notes down on his notepad.

"Do you use any pesticide, or herbicide for the garden over there?", asks Peter. Thinking for a moment, Michelle remembers the new herbicide that she only recently used, "Uhh, yes actually. My husband Mike bought Groundup SuperPower a few days ago. We used it at the end of last week to try it out. Do you think it's responsible for this mess?" answered Michelle to Pete's inquiry. "Well, I don't know for sure. But now that you mention GroundupII. . . who makes that product?" "I could get the can. I think its MalSanto". "Yes, please get it. I need to have a closer look at this product", replies Pete as he continues to walk around the garden taking notes and trying to take in every little detail.

Michelle goes back into the garage and finds the empty can of GroundupII. _Yup, definitely MalSanto._ Grabbing it, she brings it out to the yard and hands it to Peter, who is snapping close photos of the lawn and garden. Peter takes a look at the can now in his hand, and starts scanning every label on its side. Michelle stands by and watches. Pete takes out his cell phone. "I have to call the department. I may need to get a team of specialists here to look into this. Sorry if there's an inconvenience". "Not a problem, we'll manage. Is it a big problem?", asks Michelle. Peter is not listening. He is waiting for someone to pick up at the other end of the line.

Michelle was listening to every word that came out of his mouth when he got through. "This is Peter LaJoy. I'm working on a possible field contamination of a herbicide product. I don't know how widespread an area has been contaminated. . . what? Yes, the central California worm case. Wait, what?- another case? Where? A farm half a mile from here? Did you send someone over? You were about to ask me to go over there? What's the address?", Michelle sees Peter scribble down an address on top-right corner of his notepad and notices that it belongs to a farm in the area. "I'll get on it right away. Make sure to send someone over here", and he hangs up.

"What's going on?" asks Michelle to Peter. "I'm going over to check out another site. It seems to have the same problem you're having. This could be more widespread than I thought. Someone's coming over here, though, with equipment and so forth. I have to leave- it was a pleasure meeting you". "Same here", replies Michelle while shaking hands. Peter then heads back to his car, parked in the driveway. Michelle heads back into her house. _Well that was quick. How bad is this going to get?,_ wonders Michelle as she watches Peter back out of the driveway and head down Lake Road.

At the Miles Farm, Greg Miles paces impatiently around his red farmhouse. _This guy is five minutes late. I'm probably gonna lose a lot of money with this, and this problem just darned sucks!_ Seeing a black Ford pull into the long, dusty driveway to his farmhouse, he quits his self-indulged thoughts and goes down to greet the visitor. Peter LaJoy gets out of his car and is greeted by the suspendered jeans-wearing plump figure known to his few friends as Greg Miles. After greeting each other, Miles explains the situation that occurred over the past several days to LaJoy. Pete immediately notices that the situation is very similar, if not identical, to the one at the Williams' house and says so to Miles.

"So, you think this worm problem is not mine alone? Lots of people have it?",asks Miles when he hears this. "We don't know for sure at the moment. All we know is that it is not unique to your land. But we don't know how far or how wide the conflagration is. Did you use any pesticide or herbicide on your crops recently?", inquires LaJoy. "Yeah, used Groundupto kill the weeds and some atrazine or something combo for the bugs. Keeps the plants growing smoothly. Why?". "Well, we also had that same herbicide, Cleanup, used in other cases. Did you use Groundup SuperPower?" "Yes, just came out like a week or so ago" replies Greg. Peter takes note and scribbles several notes in his notepad. "Very well. We'll see what we can do, but I'm afraid we're going to need more information. We may have to send a team over here as well".

"A team? To my farm?" "Yes, again we need more information. We're going to have to acquire some soil samples, run a few tests. . . basically we need some time. You can definitely continue working while they're doing all these things" replies LaJoy somewhat appeasingly, sensing a rising sense of urgency in Miles. Miles looks slightly more flushed than before. "Anything else that I should know about?" Miles thinks for a moment, "Not really. Nothing I can come up with". "Very well", replies Peter, "Its been a pleasure, sir. Take care". "You too." The two men shake hands, and Peter soon afterwards takes off in his pickup truck.. Miles is left there standing like a stone statue. Pondering the history of his farm, he remembers the disaster he had only a few years back and cannot help but anxiously gnash his teeth and wonder: _Another problem on my farm? No way! Shit. This business keeps getting worse all the time._

03 THE AGENCIES

Stockton, California

Working for the United States Department of Agriculture may sound like an easy, laid-back job for some. But for Michael McCarthy, working for the Department is fast-paced, exciting job that has no limits. A Farm Inspector for the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS), a subdivision of the Department of Agriculture, his job routinely involves fieldwork on farms; constantly on the lookout for anything from genetically engineered invasive species to agricultural bioterrorism. The primary objectives of the Animal and Plant Health Inspection service are a broad spectrum from protecting animal health and well-being to regulating new biotechnology. It is a busy job that must keep in pace with the changing times. In addition, job rules and regulations are oftentimes complicated by collaboration with the U.S. Customs and Borders Protection, which started in 2003. Overall, Mike believes that little tweak simply adds to the excitement, and occasional general confusion that accompanies the action.

Mike routinely wakes up at 6:30am and showers before heading to the local Department office located on 1308 West Robinhood Drive, Stockton, California. After a quick breakfast he drives the twenty minutes from his home to the office in his hybrid Nissan _Altima_. While he did receive a few funny remarks from his co-workers for its color, which happened to be green; by now they have gotten over it and accept the fact that the car has a somewhat fitting color for the job. He revels in having free reign over his house during weekdays, as that gives him the freedom to come home as late as necessary and leave early during morning rush hours without too much hassle.

At six feet and three inches Mike towers over most of his fellow Californians. Mike generally tries to exercise every other day, but sometimes the schedule breaks and a day will be skipped. Nonetheless, for his forty-two years he is in fairly fit condition, with no beer belly and sizable biceps, a product of his gym time. His son, Jake, who has recently turned eleven does not share his dirty blond hair even though he does have the same blue eyes. Jake usually comes over on weekends, where he spends most of the days with the neighbor's kids. During weekdays Jake stays at his mother's house and goes to school in her neighborhood. Mike's ex-wife Stefanie lives near Sacramento in Rocklin, a predominantly suburb town. She drives Jake over every Friday and picks him up on Sunday evenings. He also does the drive on occasion, but nonetheless over the past three years it turned up to be him doing thirty percent of the drives and Stefanie doing seventy percent of them. _One day she is going to bring this up_ , he knows, but so far she hasn't. _Just one more contentious issue that will ruin a day. Although for now she understands that it will be difficult changing the Friday drive, probably why the issue hasn't been brought up yet._

Checking the mirror for traffic, Mike drives along the highway at the posted speed limit, letting the usual rush-hour speed freaks pass him by. After twenty minutes on the highway from Elk Grove, Mike pulls into the parking lot of the APHIS building. The building is a large rectangular two-floored concrete building located on the northern edge of the San Joaquin Delta College, a small community college primarily focused on career-oriented A.S. degrees. Once inside, Mike is immediately greeted by Laurie, a co-worker of his. "Hi Mike, how's it going?!" "Morning Laurie! Excellent, a Tuesday as usual. Anything new today?". "Actually, yes, you'd be interested in this. Brand new stuff. John would want you to check it out. He actually asked if you were in today, although you know he's pretty familiar with your schedule." "Really?", asks Mike, "let me just put this stuff on my desk and I'll be right over". John was the boss of the Stockton office, Mike goes over to his office, A-3, and puts down his light briefcase and workbook.. Spraying his office plant with water, Mike turns on his Dell Dimension 9100. The Dimension 9100 was added two years ago but nonetheless still has a reputation as a high performance dual-core standard computer for deskwork. _I wonder what's up if John wants me to look at something this early? Maybe it came in yesterday and since I was home early I didn't see it?_ Logging on to his e-mail, Mike sees two notes from John.

Opening the first one he read: [Hi Mike, please see me in my office when you get here. We have a developing situation near Bakersfield. See attached File]. Mike opens the file, and sends it to the printer. Grabbing the short two page report he heads out of the office door. After walking past another office to the right he knocks on A-1's door. "Mike! Come on in!", exclaims John. John Wilgram, Officer in charge of Scranton APHIS office, is a heavyset bald man in his early sixties. After having worked for the Department of Agriculture for over twenty five years, John has had a desk job for the past decade and rarely left the office for any kind of fieldwork. That was usually left to Michael McCarthy.

"Sit down. I'm not going to offer you coffee, but how about some cookies? They're new." "Sure, I'll try one", replies Mike, grabbing a cookie from the tray on John's desk, "what seems to be this so-called 'odd' situation that came up?". John sits back in the black leather executive chair, gathering his thoughts, "Well, it's like this. We have a farmer out near Bakersfield who lost all of his worms. According to the report, all the worms are coming out of the ground and dying within a few hours of exposure. We don't know why or how, which is why I want you down there ASAP. The guys over at Bakersfield sent someone over to investigate- name is Peter LaJoy. As you saw, he wrote the preliminary report. But their job over at Bakerfield is Plant Protection and Quarantine. They won't help with this, unless we need to quarantine something. If that happens, call them directly. Anyways, Laurie and Mark will be going with you as well." Mike thinks it through for a moment, before responding, "Ok. Worms are dying, we'll need to bring the lab equipment. Could it be a new herbicide, or a chemical spill in the water aquifer?" "No, I don't know. Just take what you need. Bring samples back here", says John. "Of course. Its' like a three hour ride though. By the time we get there-" "Doesn't matter, so long as you guys take off within the hour" replies John curtly. "Alright, we'll get on it right away".

With that, Mike takes one more cookie and leaves John's office. Mike goes over to A-6, knocking on the door before entering. "Mike! Talk to John already?" Laurie smiles as she looks up from her desk. Tall, thin, with brunette hair curled in a bun and tight dark work-outfit, Laurie was a friendly, outgoing personality who also appealed to many men. At thirty, she was everything a man could want in a woman, despite wearing glasses instead of the contacts which many women prefer for aesthetic reasons. Mike, however, had more of an appeal for work during the last several years and so far their relationship had been a very friendly, but professional one. A recent Ph.D graduate from UC Berkeley in Soil Ecology and Physiological ecology, Laurie has been a regular member of this Stockton APHIS office for over three years. Leaning on the door frame, Mike quickly explains the situation, "Yeah. We're going down to Bakersfield. Or near it, anyway. We have to check out a farm on 6 Lake Road. Some sort of contamination", he explains to Laurie. "Ok, what time do you want to leave?". "Uhh, if we can get all the stuff in the van, in about twenty minutes", replies Mike. "That quick?. . . don't worry- I'll do it, as you know!" "I know, I know! See you in twenty!", ends Mike with a smile. Pushing himself off the door frame, Mike heads down the hallway to the lab. _Time to get Mark_. The office's laboratory is a small yet well-lit room that houses the usual assortment of microscopes, freezers, burettes, petri dishes, calorimeters, cages, spectrophotometers, incubators, and homogenizers that one would find in a lab intended for work on plants and animals.

Mike found the former college football player sitting at a computer terminal going over some unspecified information. A large man of 6'1", Mark's seemingly only real interests in life were football and zoology. Mark played football for UCLA while he studied biology for a B.S, hoping to be a veterinarian. Afterwards he changed his mind and pursued a Ph.D in molecular physiology, intent on working on animal physiology. Soon afterwards he started working for AHPIS in dealing with animal health issues, invasive species, and even animal welfare. APHIS eventually recognized that not everyone could be matched correctly with their field in a changing work environment although Mark still found some fun in his job. For the past six years Mark has been a regular at the Stockton office.

"What're you working on?" asks Mike, barging through the door. He had a common habit of not knocking on people's doors, unless it was important. It really depended on the person. Mark would never get the courtesy of a knock, John would. Mark looked up from the screen, straightening his back from the slight hunch that he would develop in front of computers, an yawned, "Not much, just going over these Med-fly stats. Well, you know I'm writing that report on the fly quarantine program that they're doing in San Diego. So you know the story. Flies are found. First we quarantine the area and treat it with the usual mixture of pesticides and bait. Then we start SIT". "SIT?", asks Mike. "SIT- stands for Sterile Insect Technique. We grow a lot more fruit flies in a safe location and irradiate them all. Then we release them into the wild and let them mate with the wild ones. Within a generation or two there shouldn't be any left. Question I'm working on is this- Can we improve this process? Like seriously, why don't we cut back on the pesticides first. Release the irradiated flies out into the wild first. After three generations, there shouldn't be any left- they've been taken care of through attrition. We should only use the pesticides if they survive the SIT approach. Basically I've been working on this paper for two weeks".

"I see. That's fascinating. I know about the fruit fly quarantines, but the SIT?- . . I don't know, I guess I work too much on ecology these days to take notice of other things. Listen- you got the message from John?" "Yeah, I did", replies Mark, "I'm working on it. Let me just get a few field kits in the van. What time do you want to leave?" Mike checks his watch before answering, "How does 8:45 work for you? We need to be on the road there as soon as possible". "Works for me". "Alright, then. See you at the van. I've gotta finish up some things myself, and then we'll be going there soon". Mike walks out of the lab, pausing to take a look at the fruit flies held in a container along the side wall. The hundreds of flies literally covered most of the space in the large plastic-composite container. Some were flying around like no tomorrow while others sat perched on twigs and obstructions in the structure. Mike watched as one particularly large one came up to the glass, surrounded by hundreds of others. The large red bulbous eyes stared at him, scanning for any signs of life. The Mediterranean fruit fly looks basically like a large bumblebee. The only difference is that it has red eyes, a red and orange striped abdomen, much less "fur" on its black spotted thorax, and like all flies no conspicuous antennae structures on its forehead. After another several seconds of staring at the creature Mike turns and walks out of the lab.

_Worm contamination near Bakersfield. Hmmm, interesting. Have we ever had a scenario like this before? Cause if we did, I don't remember it._ Mike keeps going over all the information that the report contained and that John mentioned to him. _It looks like this might be another long day. At the rate this day started, I'm not going to be home before 7:00pm at the earliest._ Coming back into his office and falling into the chair, Mike reopens his e-mail window. Mail from USDA, several message from the Farm Service Agency (FSA) on farm conditions and quality in the region, and an inquiry from the Agricultural Research Service on the status of a forest conservation program intended to protect the Giant Sequoias from invasive insect species. _That shouldn't be here, I haven't been working on that project in months._ Forwarding a copy of that last e-mail to John, Mike turns to the task at hand. Exiting the building from the left side rear door, he walks across a small parking lot to a parked Dodge Sprinter van that the office uses for what are jokingly referred to as "excursions"- really field work.

Mike walks around the van and unlocks the back door. Pulling the door open he reveals the assortment of field equipment that is usually kept in the vehicle. Plastic carry-kits and boxes full of hygrometers, TDS testers, water samplers, thermometers, pH indicators, temperature and oxygen tracer meters, and a mobile dissection kit are all amongst the tools typically found in the van's cargo hold. _We need some quarantine containers for getting samples back. Field radios? None? We should get some of those as well._ Closing the doors and heading back into the building Mike sees Mark comes out of the other side's rear exit door carrying two boxes. He walks up to the van, puts the boxes on the ground, and starts opening the van's doors. Mike goes in through the same door he came out of and walks down the hallway to his A-3 office. Making a right, he heads to Storage Room 2. Taking a key chain out of his jeans pocket, Mike flips through the oftentimes confusing set of keys until he finds the large one with 2 small ridges. Opening the door he enters and begins looking through the racks to find what he is looking for. _Containers, quarantine containers. . . we always kept them on the second shelf!_ Grabbing three, a large one, and two smaller sized ones, Mike leaves the storage room and closes the door behind him.

Taking the boxes outside the office building, he leaves them on the ground. He then goes in and nearly bumps into Laurie who is also walking down the hallway with a lap-top in her hands. "Woah! Haha sorry. Good thinking, almost forgot- We'll definitely need that!", exclaims Mike on seeing her. "Bet you would forget". Laurie glides past him and goes out the door. Mike goes back to grab some walkie-talkies from the storage. Now remembering which is the key for the storage room, the process goes much quicker than before. He then walks back out with four compact walkie-talkies and heads out for the van. Laurie, coming back by now, see him pass again. "I'll get those containers". "Thanks!" _Man, that definitely helps a little._ Within another three minutes everything that they will need for the field work is in the van, and Mike is ready to take off.

After going to the bathroom and taking several empty file folders from his desk Mike heads out to the van at exactly 8:43am. Laurie is already by the van waiting. "You have everything?" "Yeah, all set to go. Where's Mark?" Just then Mark emerges from the left side rear door of the office and walks over. "Hey guys, I've got everything I need. Are we all set?". "Course. Been for a while now! Lets get in", replies Mike. Mike gets in the driver's seat, while Laurie and Mark enter through the passenger side. Laurie takes the middle seat, while Mark takes the right passenger seat. Mike starts the van while everyone puts on their seat belts.

Well aware that it is going to be a four hour drive, Mike realizes that they will have to stop every hour to stretch legs and get food and use the bathrooms. _A relatively long road trip_. Fortunately Interstate 5 usually runs quickly and has over five parallel lanes on some stretches. _We won't get there before 1:30 or even 2pm. But we should get there around that time. We may need to lodge in Bakersfield for more than one night as well, especially if this investigation goes on longer than expected._ Mike pushes on the accelerator and they drive off onto Lakeview Road. After about twenty minutes of driving through late-stage morning rush hour traffic through the downtown city streets of Stockton, the APHIS team makes it to Interstate 5 and begins the journey southwards.

FAO Headquarters, Rome, Italy

The Viale Delle Terme di Caracalla in Rome, Italy may be translated to "Road of Caracalla's Spas". Visitors, however, may take less note of the ruins of Caracalla's Roman Baths than of the massive concrete office building opposite the old Roman ruins. The huge rectangular nine-story building of the "international power style" of architecture clearly dwarfs the ruins built two thousand years ago by the Roman Emperor Caracalla. This is only fitting; for as the baths were for meant for the betterment of the people of the Roman Empire, the Headquarters of the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization were designed for the needs of the entire world.

The Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations primary mandate is raise global levels of nutrition and standards of living, improve and modernize agricultural productivity, and better the conditions of rural populations. What the US Department of Agriculture is mandated to do within the boundaries of the United States, FAO is mandated to do across the world. The wide range of activities that FAO is involved in are crucial for continually improving world agriculture and feeding the world's people.

FAO assists developing countries by providing improved seeds and fertilizers, soil conservation and water-resource management techniques, advise on government policy and planning. It aids international crop protection activities, works to reduce reliance on pesticides, and aims to improve household food security and rural family nutrition. FAO also has programs to conserve and sustain crucial plant and animal genetic resources. Finally, the Food and Agriculture Organization acts as a neutral forum for the discussion of all worldwide food and agricultural issues.

Every year FAO must be prepared to deal with more and more problems to global agriculture and the global food supply than the previous year. With world population increasing at a phenomenal rate, many projections by FAO, the World Bank, World Health Organization, and World Resources Institute estimate that the world would grow by over 34% from 2009, to reach a staggering population of 8-10.5 billion people by 2050. The FAO is entrusted with the burdensome duty to of making sure that all the people on Earth have a good standard and safe and healthy food to eat. For this very reason, the FAO is the largest United Nations agency and is allotted a budget of over $1 billion US dollars annually.

So naturally when mistakes are made the blame will generally act opposite of gravity and consequently levitate upwards. This "rule of bureaucracies" may make the position of Deputy Director-General unenviable for many. However, for Trevor "Trip" Manjak, it is simply his job. Having served the United Nations in this capacity for the past six years, Trip Manjak has gotten accustomed to not only Rome and its people and customs, but to an increasingly demanding work schedule that would routinely take up both day and some nights. Of course, ultimately responsibility for FAO rests with the Director- General and not the Deputy, but for Trip this is a trivial distinction. He performs his job as if he were the Director-General and not the Deputy, for if he were to make mistakes surely the outcome would be as harmful to him as to the organization itself. That is why mistakes are to be avoided.

Every six years the Director-General is elected by the Conference of Member States, the governing body of the FAO. The Conference is composed of 169 member states, one associate member, and one member organization (the European Union). Every two years the Conference meets to review the work done by FAO within the intervening period and to approve a Program of Work and Budget for the next biennium. This year is one such year. Within three months the next Conference meeting will be held, first to review the work FAO has accomplished over the last two years and then to elect the Director-General for the next six years. Trip had little doubt that the incumbent, the Frenchman Maurice, would be selected again, and in any case, he had little interest in putting the burden on himself. No reason to promote yourself just yet. _Too much work, too little family time, and too much heckling. I am content with what I am already tasked to do. And besides, within another 10 years I'll find myself a quiet little desk job with few responsibilities before finally retiring._ Reading over another report, Manjak ponders in the quiet solitude of his office.

Born in Scranton, Pennsylvania to a Serbian immigrant father and an American mother of Italian descent, Manjak had always had a purpose in life: _To improve people's lives_. _I've always wanted to help others._ In high school he was senior class vice president, part of a community service organization, and played in the school band. In college, he decided to pursue a most fundamental drive in human beings. _Food_. Before shelter, mating, and certainly before fire comes the need for food. Humans need energy to live and food provides those crucial calories that allow us to move around, thrive, breed, enjoy life and evolve. Trip was curious about where all the food came from, how it was produced, how it was transported, how production could be maximized, and many other questions related to food. He was also always hungry back in those days. Trip subsequently decided to pursue a degree in agricultural science. Graduating _Magna cum Laude_ , he transferred to New Mexico State University to receive his Ph.D. After that achievement he started working for the US Department of Agriculture as a field operative for Food Safety and Inspection Service. Soon afterwards he transferred to the Farm Service Agency, before being promoted to National Agriculture Statistics Service and then the Agricultural Research Service. After that job he started working for the United Nations FAO. It was always hard getting an American to high level positions in the UN, due to a perceived notion that the US already has excess power and advantage in the organization, mostly from providing a significant portion of its funding. Nonetheless, he managed; and now having spent over fifteen years with FAO now, he slowly rose to the position of deputy Director-General by being known not as an orator, or a visionary, but simply as a man who could get the job done. If there was any task that needed attention, any job that needed completion, or any project that needed oversight, Trip Manjak made and maintained a reputation to get it done and within a timely schedule.

What a timely schedule really meant is- if a project was estimated to be completed in two months, it would actually take eight months to complete without proper supervision. Once Trip arrived on the scene, it would take a mere four months to get the work done. That was the nature of the job, and one had to accept inevitability's silent yet powerful hand in the work. No matter what scenario the FAO got into, no matter how bright the outcome, during his tenure Manjak noted that Murphy's Law would always creep in and deploy some twisted derivative that would determine the nature and course of the project.

Life isn't always as cynical as Edward Murphy may have been when he invented "his" law. Manjak also met his wife during his tenure at the USDA, during a personnel exchange program with Colombia. Even though Sofia was a Colombian from Medellin, Manjak secretly loved that she didn't insist on Spanish food too often and that her Colombian accent wasn't very noticeable when she spoke English. However, ever since the couple had moved to Italy such trivial matters and "Americanisms", didn't actually matter. They also brought their two twins Isabel and Max over. The twins are both currently enrolled in the American Overseas School of Rome. Both are 17, in their final high school year. Sofia retired for a while, as she did not want to continue to be in a similar agency as Trip, and take care of the kids in the meantime. The circumstances would sometimes lend themselves as funny, other times they would be only tenuously comical. All the better, for then she had all the time in the world to walk and shop in Rome, take care of the kids, and try to have a break. With the kids reaching adult age soon, she had recently rededicated herself to international work.

Trip looked at the report again. The report was from Jean-Marie Dupont, Emergency Coordinator of relief efforts in Zimbabwe. In 2009 FAO started a major operation in Zimbabwe to provide vulnerable Zimbabwean farmers with seeds and fertilizers. The program ensures that each farmer will receive enough maize or sorghum seed and fertilizer to plant a 0.5 hectare crop. The plan also aimed to provide extensive services and training to the farmers. After the first year of the project, Dupont reported that results were as good as anticipated and that farmer's production rose 96%, almost double the output of the previous year. The second year of the project the output increased by 54%, but by the third year output increased only 3%. Manjak believed that they were hitting a glass ceiling, and that the project had sufficiently increased the original output for the time being. _The increase from three years ago has been nearly 200%!! You cannot go on increasing output indefinitely without some sort of backlash eventually._ The Zimbabwean situation is complicated by the fact that the President of Zimbabwe, Bobby Ebagum, has been reluctant to have UN operations in the country within the first place. For the past several years there have been tensions in the country as the UN increased operations to help out the poor, and some suspected, neglected population of the country. While the country has had elections every four years, Ebagum has been the victor in every single election for over 5 terms now, leading some to speculate that elections are fraud. The Ebagum administration first struck down the two-term rule after his first term in office and has expanded their direct control over every aspect of the country since then. Now, airports, cargo ports, foreign business, and city streets are under tighter restrictions and surveillance than ever before, as well as under heavier guard.

However, at the moment there was nothing that could be done. The United Nations has much more pressing concerns than the tirades and irrational maneuvers of yet another third-world leader. Although once again, the country's administration is getting in the way of United Nations aid programs to the people of his country. This particular program is funded by the European Union, under a multi-billion euro plan to respond to rising hunger around the world. The so-called EU Food Facility aims to bridge the gap between emergency aid and long-term developmental aid. It is done on a year-by-year basis, as opposed to either quick aid to relieve emergency problems or a long-term strategic plan.

Manjak signed. There was so much work to be done. The FAO would be getting more overwhelmed with work with each passing year, as resources on the planet grow scarcer and the population increases. Funding for such a massive undertaking, despite being generous, is nowhere nearly adequate to deal with the large stresses that the FAO and UN will have to be facing by 2020, let alone 2030. Unless significant and powerful leaders were made aware of this, and soon, the United Nations would be facing major crises sooner than expected. That is why he suggested that FAO host a second World Food Security Summit this year. The last Food Security Summit had been in November of 2009. While many ideas and proposals had been floated about by the various politicians, experts, scientists, and heads of state, at the end no real consensus had been reached. Very few new programs came out of the Summit, and Manjak had to note that it had been a diplomatic success but a pragmatic failure. The Director-General approved the idea, agreeing with Manjak that the time was overdue for another in-depth discussion on world food security.

Beep Beep! Trip picks up the phone. It's his head secretary, Maria Pereira. Her English, mastered at a Brazilian university, would still never lose her Brazilian, _Carioca_ accent. "Hello?" "Your visitor from the Bangladesh mission is here, sir". "Excellent, send him in please", Trip puts down the phone. _At least I got my own secretary._ A short, dark and swarthy man walked into the room. Zahir Mohammed of Dhaka, Bangladesh used to be in charge of operations in Bangladesh. A small, monsoon-riden country in southeast Asia, Bangladesh had as severe food shortages as any country in the third world. Trip had known Zahir for several years, although they hadn't had many assigments where they worked together and subsequently Trip didn't know Zahir as well as he would have liked.

Trip stood and extended his hand to his acquaintance. "Zahir!. I haven't seen you in a while. How are things in Dhaka? They treating you well?" Grasping his hand and shaking it warmly, Zahir quickly replied. "Trip. Good to see you. The question is, how have you been treating me?" The two men laugh quickly at the joke. Trip sits back down in his executive chair and motions for Zahir to sit as well. Zahir sits down, starting his commentary, "Trip. As much as it is good to see you again, of course I'm not here for that alone". A brief smile wavers across the shorter man's face. "I need to talk to you administrators about the Bangladesh project in person. The funding for what we're trying to accomplish simply isn't there. And you know it." Zahir pauses for a moment, letting the sharp comment sink in. "We have a rapidly increasing population, soon to be far too large for that land area. Coupled with the corruption in the local government agencies, and the lack of new technological breakthroughs. . . . food security is rather flimsy at best. And impossible at the worst, when it comes to that". Mohammed leaned back in his chair, hands raised in gestures trying to help convey his message to Trip. "Every year the proportion of people that are under-nourished decreases, but the absolute number remains the same. It goes down from 26% to 25% to 24%, yet the number seems to always hover at forty million. Forty million!! And in addition, over 40% of the country lives in poverty. Do you think my $12 million budget is adequate to deal with this?? Hardly, my friend." With that, Zahir paused and looked directly into Trip's eyes. "Do you think the Conference will approve an increase? If only maybe another three, four million? We need the money."

This was a difficult dilemma. Trip knew that what Zahir was saying was legitimate. But unfortunately, he couldn't make exceptions simply because Zahir knew him personally. There were many programs throughout FAO that were significantly under-funded, or that had suffered cuts in the last two years. _Do you think my financial supply is limitless Zahir? Sorry to disappoint, but it's not. I would give you if I could._ _Zahir, thought had to know better than that. He should know this already. Or maybe he's here for something else?_ Trip eyed the smaller man closely as he spoke. "Zahir, you know that I don't have the authority to do that. You'll have to talk to the Director-General. He has more sway with the Conference and the Budget Committee than I do". Trip paused. "We are all hoping that someone finally sees the light this year and the G8 and G20 can open their coffers a little more. Unfortunately, again due to recent economic times, I don't see them digging too deeply into their pocketbooks. What I can do, is I can make a note of it in my report to the conference and let them have a look at it. Send me a letter that I can attach to my report that I will present to the Conference, and I will assure you it will be given _more_ weight". Trip finished the last word heavily, silently telling Zahir that this would be a favor. A large push from the Deputy Director, but one that Trip realized would be necessary for the organization. _A good push every here and now can topple a whole pyramid of blocks. Then we can rebuild things from scratch._

Zahir took a moment to think the proposal through in his head. "I should still speak to the Director-General", he said after a second's pause. "Perhaps. But you know that he may not be as willing to take this as seriously as I do. You know this as much as I do." "Yes, but such things are always worth a try. Surely he will at least remember the details I tell him." "Hmm. You should try. That's for sure". Zahir stood, ready to leave. "It's been a pleasure seeing you again Zahir", said Trip, only semi-formally. "The pleasure has been mine, Trip". After another exchange of handshakes, Zahir turned and left the office. Trip escorted him to the door, opened it, and after Zahir had left returned to his desk.

Picking up his phone, Trip dials his secretary. Perreira answered immediately, "Yes, sir?" "Hey, Maria, what's my schedule look like today? Anything out of the ordinary?" "Well, sir, you have an appointment with the East Asia Fisheries Supervisor at 2:00pm, and a meeting with Latin American Food Security Board at 4:00pm". "Thanks, Maria". Hanging up the phone, Trip decided the best thing to do right now was make the most of the time. _What was Zahir thinking?_ Thoughts about the quick meeting flashed through Manjak's head. _I understand that my help would give him leverage in this situation. Especially with the Conference of Member States Meeting coming up soon.. He really cares for his program, and that's understandable, but. ._ . _why would he come now? And not tell me until yesterday?_

Discarding the intrusive thoughts out of his head, Trip shifted focus to his computer screen. He was already quite aware that the fisheries in East Asia, especially several key fisheries around the Sea of Japan, the East China sea, and the South China Sea, had a high degree of fish depopulation due to excessive fishing. China alone has more than 70% of the world's aquaculture and fish farms, since it has already depleted natural sources of fish. Over-fishing is a heated debate between Non-governmental organizations, governments, fisheries, and local fishermen and due to many political deadlocks it is often difficult to reach compromises on this issue, anywhere in the world. When the area in question has over one-third of the world's population, then the question becomes even more profound and the solution less tangible. _Such problems. Always getting worse, harder to compromise_. Every year the FAO Committee on Fisheries (COFI) updates its Fishery Resources Monitoring System and its Fishery Statistical System. These two systems, amongst others, help FAO improve regional cooperation in improving data and information on the status and trends of fisheries. The combined system, known as FIGIS (Fisheries Global Information System) allows the UN to collect information on a global scale that would help developing countries build inland fisheries on regional and local scales. A consensus by the Committee on Fisheries has made the development of sustainable fisheries in developing countries a major goal of the FAO Fisheries and Agriculture Department. So far, that goal has only been accomplished to a limited extent, and many countries are wondering how much attention FAO is really giving the project. _FAO is giving all the attention we can give. Well, there have been a few problems here and there. But ultimately, Zahir is right. It is a question of funding, and whether they are willing to give it. This will be a major theme at the upcoming Conference of Member States._

Realizing he was thinking abstractly again, Trip got back to his computer intent on finishing the remaining reports before the meeting began.

University of Texas Medical Branch, Galveston, Texas

The University of Texas Medical Branch (UTMB) is a large health care complex comprising seven hospitals, a medical library, and three institutes for advanced research located in Galveston, Florida. The facility includes over 2,400 graduate students and residents, 1,200 faculty, 11,000 personnel and a $1.5 billion dollar budget. The campus is located approximately fifty miles, or eighty kilometers, away from the busy hub of downtown Houston. The campus's buildings range in artistic décor from drab, concrete and glass multi-story boxes to the ornate, Romanesque architecture of the Ashbel Smith Building, also known as "Old Red". The building, completed in 1891 and designed by architect Nicholas Clayton, sits at the center of the UTMB campus. Built out of bright red bricks, the building is also noted for its Texas granite columns and sandstone capitals and ornamentation. The building breathes new life into the campus, whose other buildings display a small flare of pueblo style architecture but for the most part are large, concrete boxes with windows.

Yet, despite the existence of "Old Red" on the campus UTMB it is not its presence that attracts top medical students from across the United States, but rather the presence of prestigious and vital projects such as the Center for Bio-defense and Emerging Infectious Diseases (CBEID). The Center was created in 2002 with the merging of the Center of Tropical Diseases and the Center for bio-defense, with a twofold purpose: first, to reduce the vulnerability of the U.S. and other nations to the use of biological weapons; and secondly, to alleviate suffering from tropical infectious diseases through the combination and application of field research and education. The Center has subsequently attracted a large amount of expertise and talent in the growing fields of bio-defense and emerging infectious disease. It has put this to good use by working on developing knowledge of basic biology of viral warfare agents, and pursuing cutting-edge research in immunology, pathogenesis, vaccine development, antimicrobial drug development, and diagnostics.

Dr. V.K. Krishnan, M.D., is one of the twelve hundred faculty who work at the CBEID. A full Professor and member of the Department of Microbiology and Immunology, this is his fifth job at a major virology oriented program. Like many of his colleagues, Krishnan had an interest in helping others since childhood. Studying hard in order to receive a scholarship from a good American school, Krishnan managed to be accepted at UCLA and pursued a B.S. in Biology. From there he transferred to Harvard Medical School and received his M.D. after six years of residency. Receiving nearly perfect scores on many of his tests, Krishnan knew that what he wanted most was to return to his native Mumbai, India and help set up better hospitals and healthcare programs. An opportunity arose several months after graduation, when a position with the World Health Organization opened in Mumbai. Krishnan decided to travel back to India, where he spent the next decade working for the WHO. It was during this time that he became familiar with one of his favorite fields, that of arboviruses. "Arboviruses" is a name used to describe arthropod-borne viral diseases, such as West Nile Virus, Equine Encephalitis virus, Yellow Fever virus, Crimean Congo Hemorrhagic Fever virus, and other similar viruses. Arboviruses specialize in using wild animals as hosts before "spilling over"; meaning they adapt to use humans and domestic animals as amplification hosts. Krishnan spent years developing vaccines and helping spread awareness of diseases such as Yellow Fever, Malaria, Japanese Encephalitis, and Hepatitis A & B. Now, after more than thirty years in the field, Krishnan is a world-renowned expert in immuno-biology, virology, and human disease. Over the years, he has written numerous journal articles, two medical books, lectured at his alma mater of Harvard as well as other universities, and appeared on news channels during disease outbreaks, talking to reporters and journalists about the progress of preventative treatments and in general assuring the public that the outbreak would be contained. After several years through the WHO ranks, Krishnan eventually decided to expand his base and joined the faculty at Harvard Medical School. After a year, he applied and gained US Citizenship while transferring to John Hopkins Hospital; while equally challenging and stimulating, he missed his old university. Heading back to Harvard, he became somewhat of a minor media celebrity, through numerous TV talk shows, interviews, and televised campus speeches on healthcare and global pandemics.

V.K. decided that a job with CBEID would be the final glory moment before a peaceful, private, and well deserved retirement. After a demanding yet exciting life in the medical world, he decided that he needed time for himself and his family. While he did meet his wife at Harvard, and one of his grown kids was attending the school as well, he did not feel that Harvard, or any other university for that matter, would play a big role in his life anymore. CBEID took most of his time that he had left, and after another two or three years in this job he intended to return to his summer residence in Mumbai and spend time with his extended family.

There was another bright side to his fame, intellect, ability, and good fortune. His lab in the CBEID building was very large for a laboratory, with two Assistant Professors, and a dozen medical and microbiology graduate students to work under him. Also, he was given the title of Associate Director of CBEID and is a part of the institution's leadership. The laboratory is equipped with the latest technologies that a lab would want, including one of the most advanced microscopes in the world, a Titan 80-300 Cubed. The instrument, which cost $15 million, has an incredible resolution of 15,000,000x magnification. It is undoubted to say that the instrument is the costliest in his laboratory, as well as being the most prized. It is also the most coveted for use by other agencies and individuals.

Krishnan, now promoted to Director, currently has several projects running, but the one that has been occupying his attention for the last several months has been the study of the H5N2 virus, also known as the "Advanced Avian Flu". Flu-related viruses are all named in alphabetical order, categorized by scientists and medical doctors who name the virus yet do not even understand the origin or nature of the virus at the time of the christening. Like the H1N1 virus that caused the "Swine Flu Epidemic" in 2009, H5H2 is a version of Influenza A that is found in birds, primarily in poultry such as chickens. However, cases have been reported of H5N2 in other birds such as ostriches, flamingoes, and even falcons. H5N2 is less contagious than its more notorious cousin H5N1 but has the ability to mutate like any virus, and must therefore be closely monitored. The worst case of H5N2 so far has been a case in Japan's Ibaraki Province, where 6 million birds were killed to prevent the spread of the virus in 2005. Since then no major problems have risen from H5N2, but Krishnan believes that it is only a matter of time before another related influenza outbreak occurs.

Emerging infectious diseases are only half of the worry that Krishnan and the rest of his colleagues have to deal with. The other is the weaponization of diseases. Diseases such as smallpox, anthrax, plague, and many others have been used throughout history as weapons. In the modern age, guarding against such weapons is an increasing problem, and CBEID is one of the key institutions in the US working to find viable defenses against biological warfare. While bio-defense has in general not been as much to his liking as emerging diseases, over the years Krishnan has accumulated a lot of experience in the field through his work at CBEID. Krishnan studied anthrax, encephalitis, hemorrhagic fever, Marburg virus, and other similar diseases through various programs on viruses deemed to be suitable for "weaponization". The only known samples of the world's deadliest diseases are kept in quarantine at the Center for Disease Control's headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia.

Krishnan considers himself to be well aware of the risks involved in such safekeeping. Extremely dangerous samples are kept in quarantine by both the CDC and by other countries around the world. Other dangerous experiments have also highlighted some of the real problems posed by biodefense research. Krishnan remembered the first time such a dangerous breakthrough occurred- in 2005, the Center for Disease Control replicated the 1918 Spanish Influenza Virus. For the first time ever a dangerous virus that had already caused a global epidemic, killing millions in the process;- had been replicated intentionally. Ten vials were created, each which contained 10 million infectious virus particles. According to the CDC, the virus samples were re-created in order to be studied at secure labs throughout the country. However, in order to reach the labs, of which only a select few would receive the virus itself, the samples would have to be shipped to the lab. Oftentimes the transportation methods for such dangerous chemicals were ordinary transportation means such as Federal Express or DHL. Krishnan often wondered why they didn't think some better mode of transportation couldn't be used. Of course, the highly sensitive packages were packaged with extreme caution according to federal guidelines and safety regulations, but of course the risk was real: the packages could be lost, misplaced, or stolen. Despite all the safeguards, including tracking devices, nothing could done with certainty. The risk was forever present.

To more closely monitor such activities throughout the country, and to better coordinate national biodefense research, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security created the National Biodefense Analysis and Countermeasures Center (NBACC) in 2002. The organization is based in the sprawling new research laboratory in the U.S. Army's Fort Detrick, Maryland. Over 150 scientists work in the lab researching biological prevention and containment methods for use in the event of a bio-terrorist attack. The $143 million 160,000 square foot building houses a forensic testing center, as well as a Biothreat Characterization Center which will help to predict nature of attacks and aid the development of countermeasures. The facility's labs range from BioSafety Levels 1-4, with labs designated as "BSL-4" used to experiment and quarantine the most dangerous agents, such as the Ebola virus. With all this power at its disposal, it can be safely assumed that the NBACC is the most advanced biodefense facility of its kind anywhere in the world.

Many of the research projects assigned to CBEID come directly from the Department of Homeland Security, and some are collaborative work with NBACC. As such, Krishnan traveled to the NBACC complex on two occasions. First, as a member of the NBACC Oversight and Supervisory Committee, it was his duty to inspect the lab when it was first opened. On his first visit he was taken aback by the scale of the laboratory, the massive concrete walls and the sheer quantities of cutting-edge technology and research space in the building. The second visit was for the oversight a classified project involving encephalitis countermeasures. Krishnan has never worked inside one of the laboratories, even though he has toured the entire building and knows the capabilities of NBACC. The NBACC represented a resources-input increase of over 1000% for the United States in the field of biodefense and biological weapons technology when it first opened. Such a massive project naturally brought criticism from many parties. One of the most stinging, yet potent criticism was the accusation that the construction and funding of NBACC violated the 1972 Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention (BWC). The US government acknowledged that the lab constituted a "legal gray zone", but re-stated its position that it is fully legal within the parameters of the BWC and is purely defensive in nature.

When the debate broke out, Krishnan remained neutral. It was not his role to either criticize or support the NBACC. He understood the reasons why it was built, but silently acknowledged to himself that the US Administration was demonstrating its paranoia by constructed the NBACC. Nonetheless, he suspected that he would get access due to his long history of involvement with government agencies, his expertise, his international renown, and his extensive resume. Of course, his U.S. citizenship and high security clearance didn't hurt either. The chance to be able to work in the NBACC's labs, or even use them for his research, was too good to pass. Before the NBACC came into operation Krishnan had the fortune of being appointed to the Oversight and Supervisory Committee through his connections to insiders in the Homeland Security Department. _One of the few naturalized citizens working on this most secretive project._ The exclusivity of the project always made Krishnan feel lucky and privileged to be involved, especially considering the number of applicants that were rejected for posts and positions at the lab.

Krishnan got out of his laboratory at 5:03pm. He was going home early today to see his old friend from UCLA, Viktor Konovalov. _Viktor. . .he would most certainly not get the post that I have, what coming from Moscow and studying two years at Moscow State University during the cold war. . . ._ At UCLA Krishnan and Konovalov had been roommates since sophomore year. Both had graduated Summa cum Laude in Biology, and both had gone on to pursue Ph.D's and become respected scientists in their fields. Konovalov is one of the few people in the world that Krishnan has a truly great deal of respect for. After college, however, their paths divulged: Krishnan went into microbiology, while Konovalov had gone into genetics. Konovalov studied at Baylor College in Houston, Texas. Afterwards he choose to make his residency in Texas as well. Konovalov was equally as adept in genetics as he himself was in virology and microbiology. Viktor had written numerous journal articles, done groundbreaking research, received many public honors, and in general was known as a maverick in the field.

Konovalov's most important, and publicized project, has been the mapping of the human genome for the U.S. Human Genome Project. Konovalov created new methods for rapid gene discovery during his first years at the Genome Project. Later, he founded his own genetics research division, the Genetics Research Institute of Texas. There, he and his team decoded and sequenced genomes from hundreds of organisms and kept the newly decoded genomes in the Institute's databanks. In recent years Konovalov's research has focused on environmental genomics and synthetic genomics. Synthetic genomics is a relatively new field where geneticists genetically modify existing organisms to produce a new strain or mutative organism with specific qualities or behavior. Environmental genomics is the study of genetic material from environmental samples. Viktor entered the two emerging fields with the intent of creating new novel genetic organisms, primarily bacteria, that could be used as alternative fuels and biochemicals. Krishnan grunted. _As long as there is no Society for the Protection of Bacteria, of course, Victor should be able to do as he sees fit. . . . but here in the U.S., anything is possible._

Viktor has written over a hundred journal articles and made himself a millionaire through his private research company, GeneZTech, headquartered at the Genetics Research Institute. In later years the company moved to a private lot on the outskirts of Houston. _Well, I may not be a millionaire like dear Viktor, but I'm by no means doing badly. I haven't seen him in months though, now is a good time to catch up._ The reason Krishnan was getting out of work early today was exactly that- catch up time with his ex-roommate. Even though both were well aware of the other's accomplishments, and had a high degree of mutual respect for one another, their jobs and families kept them from communicating as much as they would have. As best friends since college, it was traditional to meet at least several times a year and chat. Now that Krishnan was working full-time in Texas, it was much easier for them to see each other during weekends and other holidays. It was a Friday, usually the kind of day that Krishnan would stay in the lab until 9:00pm. Today, Krishnan is heading to Panera for a healthy fast food dinner with his old college friend. The only problem is that CBACC is a hour away from Dallas, while Konovalov's company is located near downtown Houston.

The drive is about four hours, which is why Konovalov will be staying tonight as his apartment. The kids and wife are in Boston, Massachusetts for the kids' studies. That leaves the apartment alone for the two men to play cards together the entire night, gambling using fake bills as currency while discussing some of humanity's most advanced biotechnology and medical advances. Most people would get lost in the conversation after ten minutes of cards. Krishnan goes to his car planning a deep, insightful conversation with the of the world's leading geneticists and scientists. He also plans on making Konovalov pay for dinner, since he ends up winning most of the card games anyway. . . .

2:02pm Bakersfield, California

The white van with the letters marked 'APHIS- Agency of the US Department of Agriculture' on the side sped down Interstate 5 before exiting onto Route 58. Mark was at the wheel, since it was his turn for a two-hour driving shift. The three team members had stopped briefly to eat lunch an hour ago at a diner before continuing on their way to Bakersfield. Now, Mark was focused on driving through the traffic on the two-lane road on their way to the site of the reported contamination. Mike was prepared for anything, including staying several nights at a motel if the situation required it. The traffic on the road was rather light for California, but normal for a mid-afternoon weekday. Driving during rush hour is generally considered a nightmare, all the more so more so in California; and the closer that one is to downtown Los Angeles, the more nightmarish the traffic seems to be. Luckily the site was at least two hours from LA, and that meant that moving along the side roads wouldn't be a big problem.

"What's the address again?", Mark asked Mike. Mike, sitting in the middle seat between Mark and Laurie, was scanning a large map of California in front of him. "The address? Uhh, it's on 6 Lake Road. You'll want to make a right about 14 miles from here, and then continue. I'll tell you where to turn". Mark grunts, focusing on the road ahead. Mike folds the map until it fits neatly in his hands, and throws a glance out to his right. Laurie is busy reading a scientific journal. Outside the window, McCarthy sees vast tracts of farmland stretching as far out as the eye could see. As one of the more important stretches of farmland in the United States, California's central valley is a breathtaking flat landscape dotted with farmhouses and massive plots of green and yellow agricultural land. The air is of a pristine, blue quality with occasional white cumulus clouds that one will rarely see in the cities of Los Angeles or San Francisco. From this distance, the Sierra Nevada mountain range to the west is not visible to the naked eye. Mike shifts his gaze back to the front of the vehicle. _Flatland, flatland, and when we get there- more flatland!_ While the air quality is nearly pristine, ignoring the methane from the cattle farms and some gasoline fumes, the ground quality of the central valley does not receive such high commendation from visitors as the air quality. Fertilizers, pesticides, farm run-off have caused extensive problems in the groundwater, and the soil starts to become depleted after constant usage. There is nothing natural in the valley, as most of the previous natural rock formations and natural species have been removed through farming and town building. It is a large, flat, and man-made landscape.

After making the right turn, Mike turned back to the map. Directing Mark through the dispersed country roads, the team arrived at the site of the reported contamination at 2:42pm. Mark pulled into the long, dusty driveway of the farm and drove up to the large, red farmhouse at the end of the driveway before shutting down the engine. Two men were waiting for them outside the farmhouse, sitting at a table on the patio while drinking beverages. The first is a grizzled, sunburned man in farmer's trousers, the other a thin balding man in work-casual clothing. Laurie, Mark, and Mike get out of the truck and walk over to the two men. The balding man extends his hand, first going over to Mike. "Peter LaJoy. I work with the Department of Agriculture LA office". "How's it going? Michael McCarthy. We're with APHIS from Stockton." "Greg Miles, how you doing? I own the place." "Mark McGregor". "Laurie Weisman, please to meet you". After the quick introductions everyone got right down to business. McCarthy spoke directly to LaJoy and Miles, while Laurie and Mark listened as everyone gathered around the table. "Alright. The APHIS office received your report. Sorry we couldn't get here earlier but it's a long trip down". Mike turns to Miles, "you stated that your worms died after you used the herbicide Groundup Superpower?". "Yeah, exactly", replies Miles sternly. "May we take a look?" "Sure. Let's go."

Miles lead the four USDA inspectors through his farmland, showing them the damage allegedly caused by his use of the new herbicide. The team took quick note of the dead worms all over the soil; thousands of little dead bodies spread across the farm, under bushels of corn, next to potato tubules, and around strawberry plants. Mark kneels down to scoop some up in his hand, turning the worm over looking for any outward signs for the cause of this unexpected mass death. "We'll need to bring the equipment in, start taking samples, running tests", he states morosely. Mike nodded his head in reply. _This is really weird. Although we should be prepared for anything._ "I've never seen anything like this before. "Well, sometimes we get these pesticides that kill a certain species of bug but this is odd. Earthworms?" Mark and Laurie turn and head for the van. Peter LaJoy turns around, giving Mike a knowing-kind of look. "That's exactly what I said when I got here. Do you think we should quarantine the area?" Hearing that statement, an alarmed expression comes over Miles' face. "Quarantine?? You don't really need to. I mean, it's just a herbicide. If it's in the water already, there's nothing you can do about it. C'mon, you don't need to quarantine". "That depends", replies LaJoy. Mike looks carefully at the two men before replying. "We'll see what we find. If there is any indication that this could spread, though, we should definitely quarantine. Although- If you used Groundup SuperPower, I'm assuming you're not the only one who used it?" LaJoy replied, pointing a finger to the east, "Actually no. There's this lady over there who also has this problem. She said she used the same herbicide for her home garden."

Mike thought for a moment. "Are you saying the worms are dying because of the herbicide? We could have this problem everywhere if that is the case! If everyone starts using this herbicide, this could be really messy. We have to make sure that is the cause of this problem though, before we can take any other action. We need conclusive evidence". "I agree. I'll send our LA office this information, keep them updated on our situation. You three, meanwhile, start digging." Laurie comes walking back across the field, handing Mike a pair of latex gloves and a box with equipment. Mike sees Mark collecting worms and putting them into plastic zip-lock bags. "We'll need soil samples as well", Laurie tells Miles. "Sure. Do whatever you need to. Just tell me that it'll be over soon." Laurie starts taking soil matter and placing it into plastic containers. Mark cuts off a small stud from a strawberry plant, which looks like a dark green leafy shrub with strawberries growing in the middle, and places the stud in a bag. "No usual lesions or marks on the plants, they seem fine". "I don't see anything unusual on the worms either. Again, no lesions, contusions, cuts, bruises, anything really". "There has to be something. Keep looking". Mark cuts a bushel of corn with a large pair of garden scissors and puts it into a seal-able plastic wrap. Mike comments to Greg and Peter, "Well, so far it seems your plants should be fine, at least on the outside. Try not to raise hopes too high though, we need to confirm that".

"Did you advise LA that we believe Groundup is the cause of the worm die-out? Until we proof otherwise, we'll stick to that- but it's only a hypothesis." "I told them. I also advised them to have a full quarantine team ready in case we need it". "That should be fine". Mike walks over to the van to find Laurie in the small mobile laboratory in the van's cargo compartment. "So, what've we got?" Laurie has placed little bits of various crops around the lab table, and is starting to add solutions to one of them. "Well, nothing conclusive yet. No plant diseases that I see." Turning over a kernel of corn and putting it in Mike's hand, Laurie continues, "No leaf blight, corn rust, stalk rot, or any bacterial disease that I see. Again, on the strawberries there is no slime, no rot, no leaf spots, no powder; I don't see any connection to the worms from these plant crops". "But the plants were all treated with the herbicide. So we're going to assume that the herbicide either has no effect on the plants, or the effect hasn't taken effect yet. Literally". "It's the best we can do at the moment. Are we getting a quarantine team in?"

"Not yet. I don't think it is warranted just yet", replies Mike. "Until we find the agent that is causing the worms to die, I don't think we should quarantine". Thinking of Miles and his farm, Mike continues, "Quarantine should be our last resort. Otherwise it would be harmful to community". Laurie nods, and continues working. Mark enters the truck carrying bags of dead worms in his gloved hands. Placing four bags in a freezer in the front of the passenger compartment, he places another two bags on the large examining table. Taking off his gloves and throwing them out, Mark grabs another two pairs of latex gloves and gives a pair to Mike. "Lets see what this baby has to tell us", grunts Mark to Mike. Mike nods before coming up besides Mark next to the table. The two men each put on a pair of safety goggles. Mark takes out a few worms using a pair of forceps and places them on a glass plate.

Taking a magnifying lens Mark peers through the thick glass at the dead annelids. "How much do you know about annelid anatomy?", he asks Mike. "Not much. But that's what we have the laptop for. Once we connect to an online database, we'll have that info." Mark proceeds to turn on the laptop and take out an entomology dissection kit from one of the boxes. Opening the kid, he takes out a piece of micro-tape and tapes a worm onto a glass microscope slide. Once taped tightly to the slide, he carefully holds the worm in place with a forceps while using a scalpel to cut it open. The worm peels apart like a banana, allowing Mark to carefully uses the forceps to peel back the outer layer of hardened exoskeletal skin. The worm's yellowish-gray internal organs are now open for Mark and Mike to see. An Earthworm's internal body structure is dominated by digestive system, a long connected tube composed of several organs that run throughout the length of the body. Mark begins to explain the anatomy to Mike while he pins down the worm's skin segments. "Near the worm's head here lies the esophagus, followed by the crop which is bulkier that the rest of the tube. Behind the crop is the gizzard, and then the intestine leading to the anus. In front of the crop lie two large whitish seminal vesicles, whose function is to secrete fluids such as proteins, fructose, vitamin C, and enzymes. These fluids are then used in the production of spermatozoa. The worm's crop is part of the digestive system, where food is stored prior to digestion in the gizzard. The gizzard is an organ, similar to a human stomach, that will digest food through the use of acids. The strong muscular walls of the gizzard allow the worm to grind tough foods". "You know Mark, that's fascinating, but how does that help us?"

Mark looks closely at the worm. "We should test the worm's stomach cavities and gizzard for traces of Cleanup". Mike turns around quizzically. "Make sure that your test runs for Groundup SuperPower only. You know there's a whole line of those products, ever since the seventies. SuperPower is the latest. There should be a trace difference in composition between SuperPower and other lines, for example PowerMax". "Right". With a click Mike's laptop whirs to action as Mike starts to surf the web for information on Groundup products. Mike simultaneously turns to Mark telling him, "Call headquarters, and tell them to e-mail me any information they can send me on MalSanto's Groundup Products. Specifically, Groundup SuperPower". Mark opens up his wire-thin Nokia iphone to make the call to the USDA Los Angeles office, while Mike searches the web for useful information on the new herbicide. "Lets see, what is Groundup composed of? Well, that should be easy". Immediately after putting the words into a search engine, Mike sees the screen show hundreds of thousands of hits. Many sport headlines such as "Weed Killer kills Human Cells", "Is Groundup safe?", and "Is Groundup Carcinogenic?". Mike signs. _If there is any slight indication that whatever we find in those earthworms is indeed carcinogenic, we're going to have a major media problem on our hands. Let's hope that that's not the case. Ahh, finally. The ingredients list._ Some ingredients listed on the website included Isopropylamine glyphosate salt, water, glyphosate organic acids, isopropylamine, polyoxyethylene alkalymine, and FD& C Blue No. 1. _But those are for older products, such as Super Concentrate or PowerMax._ Mike keeps surfing.

Mark comes up to Mike as he's typing. "Hey, LA says that they are sending all the information they have to your e-mail. Also, they are sending their own team here". Mike stops his typing, looking up at Mark nondescriptly. "I thought we were alone on this one. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Lets assume it's a good thing and that we can use the help. So the files are on my-email?" "Yes. They will of course be copied to John at Stockton. But we'll have them here within a few minutes". "Mark, did you tell them I need a list of SuperPower's active ingredients?" "Yes, that should be included in the file. Any new herbicide or pesticide is listed in our database before it goes into the market". "Don't forget, we should also look at the inactive ingredients. They are just as notorious for causing problems, and you know that". Mike gives Mark a quick friendly glare before grimacing, "Yes, don't think that I've forgotten those previous episodes with Cleanup. Remember when those French researchers claimed that Cleanup's inert ingredients were harmful to human cells? I believe they said that even diluted concentrations of the inert ingredients had toxic effects on embryonic and umbilical cord cells. That was a hell of a case".

"It was true though", replied Mark astutely from his laptop. The researchers, from the University of Caen, stated that polyethoxylated tallowamine, or POEA, is more harmful to humans than the herbicide itself. Frankly, I doubt that any active ingredient in SuperPower will be causing the earthworms to die. It must be one of the inert chemicals". "We shouldn't simply assume that. All of the ingredients will have to be tested" "I know that. Cleanup's primary active ingredient has always been Glyphosate. But even Glyphosate, with all its many critics, has been tested repeatedly by MalSanto itself, the USDA, the EPA, just about everyone. The EPA classifies Glyphosate as a group E chemical, trust me – we already know it's not carcinogenic".

"Carcinogenic for you, or the worms?", replies Mike. "Besides, you forgot the other aspects of that case. There have been incidences of cancer and birth defects in Argentina allegedly due to Glyphosate. Specifically people living near areas that were crop-dusted. In addition, there were links reported between glyphosate and genetic abnormalities in amphibians. Honestly, we have no idea what the new versions of these chemicals will do to individual species. And don't forget, MalSanto, Dupont, all these corporations make money by creating new ones every month". Laurie walks into the back of the van, giving each man a cursory glance, "guys, what are we up to? Discussing active and inert agents?". Mark shifts in his seat to face her. "Look Laurie, it's like this. We have a hunch that SuperPower is responsible for this right? The thing is- every single active ingredient in every Groundup product that comes out is tested repeatedly. Tested for defects, genetic abnormalities, mutations, anything that it could produce that would interfere with other organisms and the environment. We already know that those chemicals are safe. We should focus on the inert chemicals". Mark finishes his sentence, and Mike immediately steps in. "Well, the point is, everything including the active ingredients should be tested. The decision is final. And in any case, the LA office will call the shots once they get here".

Taking a step back, Laurie reasons with Mike and Mark. "Well, all of us know that there are many risks involved with genetically modified organisms. MalSanto's Groundup ready crops are specifically designed to be resistant to glyphosate. That way the plants don't die when sprayed with the herbicide". Mark grumbles, "Right. A statement of the obvious, Laurie. What else?" "What I'm trying to say, is this-we need to take every component into account here. How are they resistant to glyphosate? The plant cells of the crop in question are injected with bacteria that have a natural immunity to glyphosate. This bacterial-corn DNA recombination is used in any seed that needs to be glyphosate resistant. Don't forget, the plants will reject foreign DNA. In some cases the techniques used to implant this new DNA damage the cell plants during the gene-manipulation process. Also, what about the promoter genes used to activate the newly introduced DNA strands? We should determine if this bacterial DNA, or if any other chemicals used in this process, are harming the worms. So, we should focus not only on the inert chemicals or the active ingredients, but also on the biological agents added to the crops themselves". Mike picks up on the cue. "We should ask Mr. Miles if he uses Cleanup-Ready crop seeds. Also, what effect is SuperPower having on those seeds? Could it be a catalyst for some negative reaction on the plants themselves?" "I don't know Mike. But ask you said, let's ask Mr. Miles".

Mike goes out of the van to the farmhouse patio, about 100 feet away. Greg Miles is lounging in a hammock, smoking a cigarette while reading his newspaper. "Got nothing better to do, you people are taking up most of my day. What else?" "We need to know, Mr. Miles, everything you could tell us. I hope you understand that." "Sure, why wouldn't I understand that?", Greg Miles retorts cynically, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and blowing a puff of smoke out. "First, do you use Cleanup-ready crop seeds?", asks Mike. "'Course I do! How do you think all that Groundupwill work if I didn't? They'll kill all my crops and I'd lose a hell of a lot of money. That's not the only point though". Greg leans over his hammock towards Mike, motioning him closer with two fingers. Mike comes a little closer. "These people. They 'course, figure they need to make a buck too. So guess what? They make them little seeds so that they can't reproduce. And so us farmers have to buy more and more every year, on no-till soil. That's right, new seeds every year. Lots of herbicide from them every year. Course I'm not gonna complain since my farm's been fairly good, but seriously. Load of crap".

Mike is, of course, already quite aware of this little marketing twist on behalf of the companies, but decides not to say anything. Miles continues to rant, "The best part is, that's not the only part. See everyone uses their herbicides on them' farms. Ok. But then, after years and years, the plants _evolve_. Not our plants, of course not. The weeds. I heard stories- in Utah, Colorado, what not. All these weeds get used to these mass-produced herbicides and change! Later, they can't use their herbicides no more, and have to make new ones! Terrible for farmers, cause we get invaded with superweeds. Of course, the companies just make a new product and then we forced to buy it".

Listening patiently, Mike gives Miles a quick break before resuming with his questions for the man. "I understand, Mr. Miles. But we cannot do anything about that right now, and we believe that those problems had nothing to do with this week's worm catastrophe. However, did you have any previous record of any plant or animal disease outbreak on your farm?" Miles pauses, scratching his head. "Did you?". "No! Of course not", answers Miles sternly. "Between all the vaccines for the cattle and the herbicides for the crops, I never had any major problem here. No plant diseases, no animal diseases. All good, until two days ago. Then this craziness started happening". Taking notes on a notepad, Mike looks up at Miles, responding, "Very well, Mr. Miles. Thanks again for your time. If we need anything else we can find you here, right?" "Sure, no problem Inspector. I'm always right here". "You could call me Mike". "Sure, Mike". Mike returns to the APHIS van in the driveway.

Mark turns around in the van, catching Mike's eye before he can get into the van's cargo compartment. "Hey Mike, LA just called in. They say that two other locations have recently called their office, citing cases similar to ours. One of them is located at another farm, and the other at a private house. This is in addition to the private home that called earlier. They would like for us to check them all out. Their team will also be here shortly" "Fine. We head over to the private residence that LaJoy visited earlier on today. I'll tell Miles that we're leaving and that he is to expect a team from LA over here soon". Mike gets out, once again walks over to Miles who is still swinging in his hammock. After telling him that they are leaving and that a team from LA should arrive within the hour, McCarthy returns to the van. "Of course he uses Cleanup-ready seeds, what else would he use if he uses Groundup products? And according to him, no past history of disease or infections on his farm. The private residence is what, 0.6 miles from here?". "Yes", replies Laurie. Mike pulls the van out of the driveway and begins driving along Lake Road. Within five minutes the APHIS team members pull into the Williams' driveway.

As soon as Mike turns off the engine a couple emerges from the house, attracted by the engine noise. Mark, Laurie, and Mike get out quickly to greet them, with a few pleasant surprises. "Mike". "Mike". "I guess that makes this easier", replies McCarthy with a smile. "We're only going to be here a short while. Just collect some samples and leave". Michelle replies, "Not a problem. Would anyone like some drinks?". "No thanks, Ma'am. Again we're only here to take some samples, nothing more". With that, the team disperses throughout the grounds. With a semi- grin, Mark asks the McCarthy's, "You don't mind me digging up your garden a little?" "Only a small bit!", comes the quick and equally jesting reply. Mark gets down on his knees and starts taking soil samples. Mike comes up to the other Mike asking for the Groundup SuperPower container that was used just days ago. "Sure, no problem. Actually ,we were gonna give it to you anyways- kind of an early Christmas present!". Grinning at the disastrous attempt at humor, McCarthy happily obliges and takes the container and places it in the back of the truck. After several pounds of soil and a pound of worms have been collected from the premises, the team packs up and leaves. With a quick flurry of handshakes and promises that the problem will be resolved, the APHIS team is back on the road heading to the next location.

While Mark drives the van, Mike turns to Laurie. "Both of these cases involved the use of SuperPower. We still need to confirm that, but I think it should be taken off the shelves. Could you call LA and tell them that?" "Sure". Laurie takes out her cell phone and dials. "Oh, also. Tell them we need to get a worm ecology expert down here to assess the damage that these properties are going to get. And a worm biologist wouldn't hurt either". Laurie nods, as she gets a connection. "Hi, this is Laurie Weisman from APHIS Stockton. We have strong reason to believe that the worm die-out cases near Bakersfield are related to the new herbicide Groundup SuperPower. We strongly recommend that it be pulled off the shelves immediately". A short pause ensues as LA responds to Laurie's recommendation. Mike does not hear anything from the other side of the phone line. "We also need a worm ecology expert, and a worm biologist to be at the site near Bakersfield as soon as possible". After getting a response from LA, Laurie disconnects and folds the phone. "They said that they will pass your recommendation, but cannot of course enact it. That has to be done by the Feds. And in order to do that, they will need definitive evidence for the correlation." "I thought they would say that. How predictable."

Mike takes out his cell phone just as Laurie places hers in her jeans pocket. "What do you need that for? I just made the call." "Not that, of course! We'll need a motel, we might as well find one now. Two rooms?" "Two rooms would be fine. Wait-what about Mr. LaJoy?" "He's going back to Los Angeles right now. He told me he lives there, so it shouldn't be a problem for him." Laurie sits back trying to enjoy the ride while Mike searches his iphone for motels near Bakersfield. _Something fairly comfortable and cheap. Hmmm, maybe not too cheap. USDA foots the bill; but that's only to a certain limit._ Mike decides that any ordinary motel nearby should be fine. After finding a suitable motel using _Google Maps_ , including one covered by USDA expenses policy, Mike dialed the motel and reserved two rooms. With that done, Mike turns to Mark. "How far away is this site?" Laurie answers, "about forty-six miles from here. It's a private residence, located on Browning Road in McFarland. The address is 36 Browning Road". "I already knew that. Traffic is getting worse, its nearing rush hour", adds Mark, observing cars slowing down ahead of them. Traffic slows down to twenty miles an hour on a forty-mile per hour limit zone. Everyone looks at each other, Laurie rolls her eyes. "We should have seen this coming". "It was coming", answered Mark. "We could have left either earlier or later. Just now isn't the best time".

"Obviously." Silence once again reigns in the van as the traffic slowly waddles down the two-lane road. After twenty minutes of crawling along, the team pass a crashed vehicle surrounded by three police cruisers. One uniformed officer is directing traffic. Following his instructions, the van takes the right lane and traffic speeds up again past the crash site. Unfortunately for the team, traffic was diverted on a side road detour, thus adding yet another twenty minutes to the already monotonous journey. Upon arriving on McFarland Road the scenery changes from the flatlands of golden-green crops to a small patch work of tightly-knit suburban homes. "Welcome back to suburbia", exclaims Mark. "So we are going to. . . 36 Browning Road". A number of cul-de-sacs extend out of Browning Road and form small private communities along the main road. Each cul-de-sac has approximately ten driveways leading away, each one to a typical Californian orange-white ranch-style home. Mark pulls into the first cul-de-sac, parks the van to the side of the large paved circle, and shuts down the engine.

The team members exit the vehicle and gather in front. "36 is. . . that one", Mike points at one of the houses around the cul-de-sac. The three APHIS officials walk over to the house and ring the doorbell. Hearing footsteps approach, the team take a step back as a woman in her forties answers the door. "Hi! You must be from the Department of Agriculture. You have to see this!", she exclaims in a slightly accented voice. "I am Carmen Ibarez", extending her hand to the team. After introducing themselves quickly, Carmen leads the team members through the house's Spanish-style interior to the backyard. As she leads them, she continues the conversation. If anyone expected this conversation to be any different than the previous ones the APHIS team had during their day, they were disappointed. Laurie, Mark, and Mike quickly realize that everything Mrs. Ibarez is describing matches the same pattern that they have seen on both the Miles' Farm and the Williams' property. "And you see, then we got all the worms coming out of the tierra??. . ground? When they come out of the ground, they go around after two hours they die. Very strange, no? All the worms dead quickly, after only an hour, maybe two."

"Mrs. Ibarez, this is similar to another case that we have had recently. We are working on the problem as fast as we can. Can you tell us if you used Groundup products for your house garden?". "Cleanup? I use a. . .herbicide? Yes, a herbicide?" "Groundup is the name of the herbicide in question. Could you please show us your herbicide?" "Yes, of course. I'll be back in one moment please". Mrs. Ibarez leaves the team standing in the backyard while she scuttles back into the home. Within a minute, she is back outside with a large pump-can of Groundup SuperPower. "This is the herbicide. My husband bought it a few days ago. He's sleeping now, though. . . you don't need him for anything?", she asks in her slightly high-pitched voice. "Not really", replies Laurie. With a quick smile she adds, "You don't need to wake him up just for us". Mrs. Ibarez nods before continuing, "Very well. I'll be in the house. But if you need anything, please tell me!". With that, she goes back in through the sliding door, leaving the team members to start their work. "Alright, you all know the procedure. Let's get those samples and get out of here as soon as possible". As if on cue, Laurie and Mark take out kits and equipment out of their bags while putting on the latex gloves. _Forgot to ask if we can dig up the garden. Let me see._ Mike knocks on the door's glass pane before opening the door and entering the house. Seeing Mrs. Ibarez in the kitchen, Mike goes over. "Excuse me, Mrs. Ibarez. Can we take soil out of your garden?" Carmen Ibarez turns around and faces Mike. "Ok. I think that should be ok. No problem with me". _That means go._ Mike returns to the backyard and picks up the pump-can of Groundup SuperPower, only to see Mrs. Ibarez coming out of the sliding doorway. "Mr. McCarthy, I forgot something. Two of my neighbors were over here earlier. They wanted to use some of our herbicide, and I said that would be ok. Maybe you should check their homes as well?" Mike thinks it through. "Yes, that would be a great idea. Thank you for telling us. Can we get their names and addresses?" "Absolutely."

Mrs. Ibarez returns a few minutes later with a sheet of folded paper in her hands. "Here. I've written down the addresses of our neighbors, but let me point them out". Motioning for him to follow, Mrs. Ibarez walks towards the front of the house. Once outside the front door, she beckons with her hand, "That is the Hoffman's house, the first on the list. The second is on the other cul-de-sac over there, behind ours." Mike graciously takes the paper and puts it in his jacket pocket. "Can you call them and tell them that we are USDA officials and we would like a look at their property? Please tell them we'll be over in about ten minutes". "Ok. I'll see if they're home. They should be home I think." Mike walks through the house to the backyard, where Laurie and Mark are wrapping up the collection of soil and earthworm samples. "Hey guys. Are you finished? We need to walk over to another house on the block. They may have the same problem soon enough. Mrs. Ibarez here informed me that they used Groundup SuperPower today". Mark eyes light up, as if he had just had an incredible idea. "If they used the herbicide today, and only a few hours ago, then their worms are probably still alive. We need those samples immediately". Laurie finishes packing the equipment and samples into carry-all bags which are then taken up by the three team members. After saying farewell and thanks to Mrs. Ibarez, who did in fact tell the Hoffman neighbors that the APHIS team will arrive shortly, the three team members leave the Ibarez house and walk across the cul-de-sac to the Hoffman house. Walking up, Mike rings the doorbell.

The door is opened by a man in his late sixties. After introducing themselves, the man, whose name is Walter Hoffman, shows the team to his garden. Along the way they hear the story that they expected to hear- Mr. Hoffman had borrowed Mrs. Ibanez's SuperPower Groundup herbicide earlier during the day to use on his plants. The neighbors regularly exchanged small favors, and this was one of those favors. He said he wasn't a big fan of herbicides, but he needed to keep his garden clean of pests and insects. Mike digested the information quickly, before proceeding to ask the man all the usual questions- history of plant disease, insect infestations, frequency of herbicide use, etc. The team goes into his garden ready to take live samples. When they enter through another sliding door, all they see are dead worms. _How is this possible? I thought the effect takes days, not hours! Mrs. Ibanez used it several days ago. This guy used this only what, six hours ago at the most?_ Looking around him, Mike notices equal expressions of surprise on both Laurie's and Mark's faces. _They both expected the same result as I did: worms coming out of the ground en masse, but still alive. Why are they all already dead?_ Mike thinks to himself, while helping Laurie unpack the bag and get the containers for the samples out. The three work together quickly, collecting the usual samples and placing the zip-loc bags into containers. Mike voices his thoughts for the rest of the day. "It is getting late. We should take these samples and head for the motel. Spend a few hours today getting some results from every sample that we collected." "I concur", agrees Mark. Laurie nods her head affirmatively in response. With the acknowledgement of all three, Mike shoulders the bag and heads through the house to the van with Laurie and Mark behind him. They thank Mr. Hoffman for his time and brief hospitality before leaving the premises.

In five minutes the team members are back on the road to their motel, this time with Mike at the driving wheel. It will be a thirty minute drive back to the motel for the night, and Laurie and Mark sit back in their seats trying to get some rest. It has been a long day, but all three know that it isn't over yet. They can still work in the van's makeshift lab in the back, trying to put some notion behind the events of the past day. Mark opens up his laptop and states that he's sending John an update on their progress. He then sends the same update to the Los Angeles USDA office. Since it is already past 7:00pm, the traffic on the roadways has subsided significantly. Mike is only glad that it is mid-summer, and that there is still plenty of sunlight to see with on the road. The team makes it to the roadside motel and park in a peripheral parking place. Mike goes in to get their room keys while Laurie and Mark enter the cargo compartment lab to start work on the day's collected samples.

Mike returns a few minutes later with the keys to the two rooms. Upon entering the lab compartment he hands one to Laurie and keeps the other one for himself. "Of course, you get to keep our keys", comments Mark jokingly. "What did you expect, lock-combination that recognizes your fingerprint?" "Nah. Just hoping for two sets of keys." "For what, mid-night round to the local strip-club?" "Ha ha." "That was a forced laugh." "No joke", says Mark. To move the conversation along, Mike finally gets down to business. "Anything out of the ordinary on those worms? Particularly the ones from the Hoffman residence?" "Other than the fact that they're all dead as posts, nothing yet". Mark peers at a dissected worm through a laboratory microscope. "There are no relevant traces of toxic elements in the worms' bodies", states Mark. "Also, I don't see any elements of rot in the worms' bodies. So it's not a disease, as far as I can tell. What is toxic to worms? P-99 is toxic, but that's because of the soil's low pH. We need to run tests on the soil's solubility and pH levels. If the soil concentration of P-99 is over 0.4 parts per million, then it is toxic to worms." "So you're saying we might have a lead spill? You think P-99 is responsible?" "Only if we find significant ppm levels in the soil." "I guess that's a start", concludes Mike as he takes grabs one of the sample soil bags. _This will be a long day_.

New York City, New York, USA

Alitalia Business Class doesn't compare the most favorably with better-rated airlines such as Singapore. Nonetheless, for a mere eight-hour flight from Rome to New York City it scores much higher points for comfort than the sardine like arrangements reserved for economy class. Moreover, Alitalia provides its business class customers with VIP lounges and preferential security lanes. This helps avoid long queues that can develop at Rome-Fiumicino during busy travel days. The business class seat also offers passengers more legroom and plenty of space for a laptop, which is exactly what Manjak usually entertains himself with on long-haul flights. While other passengers may take a nap or listen to music on their headphones, Trip uses the opportunity to go through reports, documents, and get work done in general. When the work becomes tedious after many hours, or sleep is missing from a long day before, a nap would solve the problem, barring turbulence. The plane also provides a welcome break from otherwise constant phone calls, as cell phone usage is prohibited on-board.

As the captain announces the beginning of their descent to Kennedy International Airport in Queens, New York Manjak packs up his laptop and stows it in the overhead compartment. Within two hours Manjak expects to be in the United Nations Headquarters preparing his work for a meeting with the Secratariat and his Senior Management Group. The Senior Management Group is the central policy planning body of the United Nations and one of the major groups overseeing FAO's overall strategy and organization. While some issues can be left to video-conferencing, sometimes it is better to have the meeting face-to-face, which is the reason why Manjak has decided to fly to New York. An elderly woman sitting next to Manjak with whom he had a conversation the first hour of the flight shifts into an upright position while tightening her seatbelt. "Good Afternoon, this is the captain, once again", announces the in-flight speaker system. "We expect to be arriving at Kennedy airport within 30-35 minutes. Weather in the area is clear, slight winds from the northeast and temperature of 29 Celsius. For all passengers with connecting flights, there will be attendants at the gate ready to help you to your connection." Chairs are shifted into the upright position and trays stowed away after the captain makes the announcement. Fifteen minutes later Manjak notices the flight attendants go up the aisle checking the passengers' seatbelts.

The plane makes an arcing left turn after flying over Long Island's north shore. Manjak sees the rows upon rows of identical suburban houses typical of Nassau county before the airplane touches down on Kennedy's runway 22R. After a brief taxi the plane arrives at the gate allowing Manjak and the rest of the passengers to disembark. Going through passport control with his United Nations Laissez-Faire, which allows him to travel to any country on official United Nations missions, Manjak heads down to the Terminal 4 baggage claims area. After taking his suitcase he hails a taxi and soon is traveling across the Long Island Expressway on his way to the Millennium UN Plaza, his hotel of choice in New York City. Oftentimes Manjak wonders if he could stay at his cousins' house in White Plains, but that would only complicate the commute to the Headquarters. However, not only does Manjak find staying at his cousins annoying (which he did once), but the Millennium UN Plaza is located directly across the street from the UN headquarters. This makes its location ideal for not only Manjak, but for a multitude of other UN officials as well.

He checks into the hotel and leaves his suitcase in his suite. After taking out a few essential living items, notably the toothbrush and shampoo, he takes out his zip-up folder out of his smaller second bag and places it on the ornate nightstand next to the bed. His cell phone rings immediately, reminding him that he is once again back in the phone-zone. _Honestly, cell phones are either the worst or the best invention we've ever had. With the possible exception of the internet._ "Trip Manjak, FAO deputy secretary speaking." "Trip! This is Bao Feng. I take it your plane arrived earlier?" "How'd you know? What's new?", asks Trip lightly. "Trip. We have so much to go over before you go to the Secretary-General. I was wondering if you could get to my office by 7:00pm today?" "Yes, I can definitely do that. I actually just arrived at the Millennium Plaza, so I'll see you in a little bit." "Thanks Trip. See you soon." With that the line goes dead. Manjak already senses that he will have to talk to many of the management staff beforehand, to get their opinions on various situations, their recommendations. Then he will have his scheduled appointment with Secretary-General Albert Hartaagnaan the day after tomorrow. At that meeting Manjak expects to be presenting FAOs strategic plan for the next two years. Hopefully he will gain the approval of the Senior Management, as they have a lot of influence with the Conference of Member States.

Trip takes his briefcase and takes out his laptop, placing it on the small desk provided in the hotel room. Replacing the laptop with documents and files, he closes the briefcase and heads out of the room for the meeting with Feng Bao, the Executive Director of the World Food Programme. Manjak had heard of her even before she received her latest post, but since then they had worked together on many overlapping problems and crisis. From dealing with losses of agricultural land in Indonesia to coordinating efforts at delivering food aid to hurricane victims in Haiti, much of the field work done by FAO overlaps with missions being done by the World Food Programme. Feng, a native of China's Guandong Province, had risen through the ranks of the United Nations both on credentials as a reputable leader and her ability to connect quickly with many of the East Asian leaders, an important trait when a quarter of the world's population is concerned.

Exiting the blue glass quadrilateral known as the Millennium Plaza, Manjak hurries out across FDR Drive to the United Nations Headquarters building. Gazing at the flags of the 192 member states fluttering in the early evening breeze, Manjak ponders if the UN could get a better looking building at some point in the future. _Ha. At some point they are going to realize that the current building is getting too small, too old, and too ugly for the purpose it has to serve. Then we'll get a new building._ Manjak knew that ground had been broken on a new headquarters building for the UN, but construction on that project had barely started and it would be years before the new headquarters would be in any way ready to begin its function. The UN had been expanding the headquarters complex instead over the years, working to create larger, greener, and more comfortable office space for the hundreds of UN employees who work there daily.

After going through the routine security check at the checkpoint, Trip hurries into the headquarters building and up into the Secretariat Tower. Slipping into one of the elevators he heads for the 22nd Floor. Once there, he walks down the length of the central corridor, which is mostly empty as it is almost 7:20pm, before turning right into Feng's office. The World Food Programme office is spacious, with numerous cubicles, terminals, and offices for the many administrative staff on site. At the end, behind a glass wall, is Bao's own office. Feng Bao is the only one there at the moment. "Bao!", calls out Trip. Feng Bao looks up from her monitor and catches Trip's eye.

Bao is her usual self as Manjak remembers her, wearing a black executive dress while keeping her long black hair straight. She is also wearing her trademark black glasses that she always has on; it is very rare that she would wear contacts. "Trip! Good to see you again so soon! How are things in Rome? How is the family?" "Rome is fine. The family is doing well. Isabel and Max are doing great in school. They're happy they're not being forced to learn Italian; although I have to say that their Italian is better than mine". Bao and Trip share a laugh at the joke. "So what's so important that you need to talk to me right after I get off a red-eye flight?" "Right down to business as usual, huh Trip? It's about the inquiries that you will be facing with the Senior Managers. You are aware of the many scandals we have been facing recently, ranging from sexual abuse to fraud and corruption. I want to tell you that we should not bring these issues up at the meeting. It is not the right place or time." Manjak leans back in slight surprise at her words. _Now I know she's always looked at practicality more as more important than finesse point of morality, but this?_ "What do you mean? It is a senior management meeting, and we should definitely bring these points to the table. Ever since the Food-for-Oil scandal under Kofi Annan we have been plagued with criticisms of corruption, all the time. Some of it true. It is time to start dealing with it."

"Deal with it? Trip, what you are talking about could very effectively be your resignation! None of us want that. We have had some problems, not so much with the World Food Programme so much as other, more clandestine programs." "What clandestine programs?" "The Population Fund, the World Bank, UNESCO, some others. But you're not a part of any of those." "I wasn't aware of such loss of integrity in those programs. But you are right, Bao. I am here to present our strategic plan for FAO. If FAO is drawn into this so-called web of corruption, however, I will look into this further." _I will look into this further regardless_. "I'm not surprised you know more about this than I do, but it is odd that you're telling me now. So, why is it?" "Come on, Trip. We all have a great deal of respect for you, for all the work you have been doing. Everyone relating to food and agriculture will testify to your spirit and ability. I just don't want to see you fall for something like this. You would have prevented the Food-for-Oil scandal from every happening if you were in your position then. All I will say is this: you can deal with the Secretary-General's office. But keep an eye out on his Senior Management group." "Does that include you?" "This isn't a joke, Manjak."

Trip gets the cue and pauses before responding to Feng's last statement. "Very well. Thanks for the update. What is the schedule tomorrow?" "Well, we will be going over food prices and commodities. I've been working on increasing the International Emergency Food Reserve to 2 million metric tons. Right now our commodities are valued at about $679 million. It would be ideal if our reserves of cereals and non-cereal reserves have a value of over $1 billion. But that is, as you like to say, wishful thinking." "We all have moments of wishful thinking, Bao. I had one about five minutes ago, remember? The important thing is that you are still heading in the direction you want to go." "How true. Another thing I wanted to ask you- you should stop by our food finance meeting tomorrow. It starts at 9:00am. You would definitely do well to be there tomorrow. The Population Fund, Economic and Social Affairs, and Safety and Security chairs will all be there for the meeting." "I'll be there. I noticed it in the itinerary, not to mention several e-mails. Anyone else to be there that I should know about?" "Well, of course there will be representatives from the World Bank, since it is a financial issue that many countries will have concerns with. And the Deputy Secretary-General should be there as well." "Zihgneg Nahk? I haven't met him yet, surprisingly. Maybe I'll meet him tomorrow. Do you know him well?" "I haven't had much time to talk with him as much as I would like. He seems competent for the most part. Albert is really in charge of things though; make no mistake". "I have every confidence in Albert, provided he dig out the weeds that have grown in his garden", replies Trip. "So. I'll be leaving. How long are you staying here?" "Only another half an hour. Then I'm out." "Fine. Nice talking to you Bao, as always. Have a great evening, see you tomorrow!" Shaking hands with familiarity, Trip leaves Feng Bao's office and heads towards the elevators.

_Something fishy is going on, but I don't know what. I need more info_. Vowing to himself that he will not be left uninformed about the suspicious activities that Bao had mentioned, Manjak takes a brief moment of comfort riding in the exceedingly fast elevator ride down the twenty-two stories to the ground. Speed walking through the corridors Trip passes the security checkpoint and exits the Headquarters building. Trip goes over the information Bao gave him during the meeting while enjoying the sights and sounds of the _city that never sleeps_. Trip always enjoyed his trips to New York, and for that reason he is going to get a sizzling New York-style pizza now before heading back to his hotel room. After that he intends to go straight to bed catching up with sleep, before heading back for the meetings tomorrow morning.

Crossing Roosevelt Avenue swarming with buses, minivans, cars and the famous yellow taxis Manjak opens his cell phone to see about a dozen messages waiting for him. Reading the messages as he walks slowly along the Roosevelt Drive next to the East River, he texts back his secretary Maria Pereira his latest information so that he could keep track of things. Reading the latest messages, including one from Jean-Marie Dupont, he eventually closes the cell phone and walks into a pizza parlor. After buying the pizza, he walks back to the Millennium UN Plaza.

03- PROPAGATION

Michael McCarthy wakes up to the faint smell of paint and two glaring beams of sunlight cutting through the window curtains. _And a damn ringing alarm!_ Slamming the alarm off, Mike gets up and heads to the shower. Mark yawns as he stretches and gets out of the other bed. 6:31am reads the alarm clock next to Mike's bed. Showering and getting dressed the two co-workers quickly pack their personal items and get ready to leave. Within another ten minutes they check out of the motel and head for the van. Mike opens his cell phone to call Laurie when he realizes she is already next to the van. "Wow. How long have you been waiting for us?" "About three minutes, give or take." The three get into the van and head to the Miles farm, where they are to meet with the LA team according to the latest set of instructions received from Stockton. The report stated the designated meeting time to be 7:30am.

Arriving at 7:24, the team sees several other vans and vehicles with the familiar "USDA" corn stalk seal printed on them. Over a dozen people are already milling about, some in lab coats while others are in work trousers and jeans. Spotting Peter LaJoy, seemingly the most senior official from LA, the team get out of the van and walk over to him. LaJoy notices them and turns around, meeting them halfway. "Mr. LaJoy. Your people are here early. Any reason for this?" "Actually, yes we have a reason. The report you sent yesterday evening stated that the cause of the die-off could be anything from P-99 to isopropylamine salt. We are here to quarantine the area and make sure the rest of the environment doesn't get affected by this, assuming this is the case. We can't risk having isopropylamine or P-99 ending up in the water shed." "How do you propose to quarantine the area? If small quantities are already in the watershed there is nothing you can do about it now." "No. We are bringing in point-of-use water treatment systems as we speak. We are going to seal off all the waterways leading out of this area and we are going to be conducting rigorous examinations of the soil. Furthermore, there is something else for you three to do. You should report back to Stockton. Bring all of your samples to Stockton, and from their make sure they get to the Western FSIS Laboratory in Alameda."

"What happens to the other sites that had worm die-offs in? The ones in Bakersfield, McFarland, Tehachapi? You intend to quarantine all of them?" "If we must, yes. Now don't wait so long, get going! We need those samples to be analyzed at the FSIS labs." LaJoy motions with his hand in a goodbye gesture, and leaves the three standing in his wake. "What now", asks Laurie. "We get our samples to Alameda as quickly as possible", replies Mike evenly. "FSIS is better equipped than we are for this kind of analysis." Laurie, Mark, and Mike return to their van and head off back north on Interstate 90. Alameda is only 40 miles from Stockton, and Mike realizes that they are probably the easiest way for LaJoy to get samples back to the FSIS Western laboratory as quickly as possible. "So, we spend six hours yesterday getting down here, only to spend another six hours today climbing back up. After, of course, staying at a lousy motel", remarks Mark to no one in particular, "This is going to be a memorable week."

"Don't fret over it too much. It was an adventure. Besides, we have free reign to stay at the FSIS lab and help them with their own analysis. It'll be worth it. Then we head back home around six." After an hour on the road Mike's cell rings, prompting him to pick up the call. "Hello? Michael McCarthy." "LaJoy here. Two additional things you should know. First, we have a worm ecology expert just as you wanted. Dr. Gonzalo Rodriguez, an expert from UCLA will be with us to examine the potential impact this will have on the environment. If need be, you can video-conference with him from Alameda or Stockton. Secondly, we have seven new cases of earthworm die-out around the Los Angeles area." "Seven? That many?! Since when, and in what areas?" "They have been reported since five this morning, ranging from Palmdale, Oxnard, to Simi Valley. All located around the northern edge of the LA metro area." "It seems that your quarantine that you set up wouldn't be enough. I was right, LaJoy." "If it is being caused by Groundup SuperPower, as you said in your earliest report, then anyone who uses it will have the phenomenon. I've already added my recommendation to yours that it be taken off the shelves immediately." "Thanks for your support, Peter." "No problem. I can admit when I'm wrong. Keep me updated."

Laurie hears the last part of the conversation, adding her own thoughts as soon as Mike hangs up the phone. "Since when is LaJoy in charge of this operation?" "LaJoy is a Senior Inspector, as such he outranks any of us. He is fairly competent so far. However, if more residential zones experience the problem, I think he may find himself overstretched very quickly." "He'll be fine." "Fine? If that's the case, why does he still think that isopropylamine could have anything to do with this? Mark and myself found no evidence of any salt in the worms. The worms were lacking in moisture, which is a characteristic of salt. The salt reacts with excreted amino acids to release chlorides. The chloride turns into hydrochloric acid which kills the worm through acidity. In the process, the worm loses most of its moisture. But I haven't seen any trace of hydrochloric acid or chloride, only of a lack of moisture. No isopropylamine traces were found on the worms themselves." "So you don't think isopropylamine has to do with this?" "It has nothing to do with it, and that's in my latest report that I sent out last night. P-99? Maybe, but again I don't think so." Laurie leans back thoughtfully. "It has to be some other ingredient in SuperPower, a minor one, or something that we haven't thought of yet." "I agree with Laurie", adds Mark from the driving wheel, "Whatever is causing the worms to die, we haven't found it yet. Maybe it's something entirely new."

"Very interesting. Your hypothesis is, as always, very useful. What could it be then, if it's not salt, P-99, or some glyphosate combination?", Mike thinks aloud. "Mike, we should wait until FSIS does their investigation. Then we'll have another opinion, and more evidence", answers Laurie curtly. "Right." Mike relents and lets Mark drive in peace without their chatter. Four hours later, Mike receives another call from Peter LaJoy, informing him that the number of sites has increased by another sixteen. "Sixteen? LaJoy, you can't possibly quarantine every single site. How spread out are they? Unless, of course, you want to get FEMA involved, but no people are in danger because of this. We're not dealing with a hurricane or flood here. Get the product SuperPower off the shelves right away!" "I am doing what I can, McCarthy. FSIS's analysis will make a major impact on whether we recall or not. Then the decision is handled by the EPA, since we're talking about a herbicide. Which is why I'm calling- to check on your whereabouts." "We are about one hour away. We should be there at about 1:50-2:00pm approximately." "Good. Call me when you get there." Mike already knows that they are heading to Alameda at best possible speed, and that the only thing to do now is wait. At 1:54 they pull into building 2A of the FSIS Western laboratory in Alameda, California. Three of the staff are on-hand in front of the building waiting for the team to arrive. As soon as Mark shuts off the engine Laurie grabs the first container out of the cargo hold/lab, followed by Mark. The FSIS staff start taking containers after Mark. Mike picks up a container as well before entering the building.

Once the team drops off their cargo in the lab, they are led to a small corner office. A short, round man with thick glasses and a strong aroma of cologne enters the room introducing himself as Martin Phillis as he sits in the heavyset chair behind the desk. "You are Michael McCarthy, Laurie Weisman, and Mark McGregor. I just got off the phone with Mr. LaJoy, so you don't have to worry about informing him that you've arrived. I read your results from Mr. LaJoy's e-mail. We have already prepared tests for isopropylamine, P-99, and glyphosate. I assure you this is not caused by glyphosate, or it would have been obvious years ago. All of MalSanto's Groundupuses glyphosate as a prime active ingredient. Worms are not affected." "What do you suppose we are going to be doing here?", Mike asks his shorter counterpart. "Well", replies Phillis, "I suggest you use our conference room that way"; pointing a finger, "you could send any information you have, conclusions on the matter, to LaJoy. I also suggest you get into video-conference with him." "That'll do just fine." Laurie, Mark, and Mike leave Phillis's office, retrieve their laptops from the van and settle with their effects in the conference room.

Plugging in the laptop, Mike immediately dials LaJoy in Los Angeles. Not surprisingly he responds immediately. "Good to hear from you McCarthy. I heard you reached FSIS on time. Good job. There's good news and bad news." "Why don't we start with the good news?", asks Mike wearily. "The good news- an emergency session of the Recall Committee for the USDA and the EPA is being held tomorrow morning." "That's great. Have they gone over all our reports yet?" "Yes they have. You're still giving a speech summary to them." "Could you say that again? . . .Me? Why me?" "Yes you. You know this material better than any of us. You've seen all the sites first hand. Just give a run-down of the material and what you know. You've already got airline tickets to DC this evening. Pack your bags. Your ticket information and itinerary should be in your e-mail." "That's the good news? So what's the bad news?" "We have had over 45 other new locations report the same situation to us. All between northern LA and Bakersfield." LaJoy paused, taking a moment to breathe. "Make sure the product recall for SuperPower is done by noon." "I will. This is getting out of control." "Certainly seems so.", sighs LaJoy before he terminates the connection.

McCarthy opens his e-mails and sure enough, there is a ticket reservation code for United Airlines Flight 505 to DC later that day, along with an itinerary for his meeting with the Recall Committee and a hotel reservation. _My week just keeps getting better_. Laurie must have noticed him staring oddly at his computer because she inquires, "Anything wrong, Mike?" "Actually, yeah. I'm being sent to DC today." "Really?! For what?" "Apparently I'm the one giving the presentation to the Recall Committee." "Wow. Good luck. When do you get back?" "Ticket says tomorrow afternoon, but I have a feeling it could be longer." Getting up, Mike goes over to Phillis's office. "Dr. Phillis, Uhh, whenever you get those results, I need them ASAP. We have to leave for Stockton, and I have to be in Washington tomorrow." "I'll e-mail you everything. When do you need it by?" "8:00pm this evening." "Should work. Take care." "You too." Mike packs his laptop and motions for Laurie and Mark to do the same. Within five minutes the trio is back on the road again returning to the Stockton office.

A forty-five minute ride gets the team into Stockton, allowing them to get into their cars and head home. McCarthy arrives at his house at 4:32, with the flight leaving at 7:00pm from San Francisco SFO International. Grabbing two suits, ties, extra shirts and underwear he packs his black trolley case as fast as he can manage. Taking two snack bars from the counter next the fridge, he rushes into his room to change. After changing into slightly more presentable clothing and applying more cologne, he grabs his suitcase and heads outside. Packing the bag in the trunk, Mike's Honda Civic races out of his driveway at 4:58pm. At 6:03 he pulls into San Francisco airport's parking lot. Racing through the hordes of passengers usually found at major airports, he presents his luggage, passes through security and head to his departure gate. _Flight leaves at 7:00pm which means. . . five hours flight plus three thanks to time zones. . . Should arrive in DC at 4:00am!!_ _I knew this was a bad idea. . . ._ Luckily the flight departs the gate on time and very soon is airborne.

After sleeping through the entire flight McCarthy is jolted out of a dreamy sleep by the captain's landing announcement. The captain manages to make a relatively smooth landing into Washington Dulles airport, leaving McCarthy with the other passengers at the terminal in the middle of the dark night. While the passengers disembark in a slow disorganized bunch, McCarthy rushes through the terminal to baggage claim. After taking his bags he hails a taxi and is soon at the Willard Intercontinental Hotel. Since the Recall Committee meeting is at 1:00pm, McCarthy decides to continue his nap until 9:30am. After the second nap of the –extended day- McCarthy wakes up, showers, dresses, picks up his business folder with the USDA analysis and conclusions and heads towards the EPA headquarters building on 1200 Pennsylvania Avenue. Even though it is only a quick three block walk - _perfect_!, the streets are still full of the various government employees, congressional aides, analysts, executives, administrative staffers, waiters, cooks, bouncers, bodyguards, and lobbyists who work in the District of Columbia. The street resonates with political authority and a sense of direction as McCarthy strolls down the last block to the EPA building. Finally reaching the massive stone masonry of the headquarters, McCarthy walks up the stairwell and into the main hall.

After passing through a brief security checkpoint McCarthy asks for directions to the conference room. The guard sees him off to the conference room, where a technician turns on the lectern and gives McCarthy free reign to do as he likes. McCarthy takes out his USB which Laurie uploaded with all the files from the previous two days during the drive from Alameda to Stockton. McCarthy begins to review the reports from the worm-die out phenomenon documented within the past few days. The latest conclusion reports that an agent in MalSanto's Groundup SuperPower is responsible for systematically wiping out earthworms on land sprayed with the herbicide. Peter LaJoy concurs, placing the blame particularly on isopropylamine salt-Glyphosate. McCarthy still disagreed with his position, citing that Glyphosate, while toxic, has been used in previous products without nearly as much detrimental effect as has the new Groundup SuperPower. He intends to bring the discrepancy of opinion to the table when the meeting begins.

He continues reading Laurie's and Mark's reports, along with Phillis's report which was e-mailed to him yesterday. _No significant traces of isopropylamine found in worm cavities or extremities._ _FSIS concludes that isopropylamine has nothing to do with the worm die-out, but that the worms died of internal temperature irregularities, lack of moisture, and veritable lack of immune system response. . . -what? Lack of immune system response? –to what?_

The last report in the folder is from Gonzalo Rodriguez, outlining effects that SuperPower may have on local worm populations and local agriculture. McCarthy is given little more time to go over the reports as committee members slowly start to walk into the room to shake his hand before taking a seat at the conference table. Mike stations himself behind the lectern and begins putting his papers in order for his presentation. Checking his watch, it reads 12:53am just as the Administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency, Janet Sczepanski, walks in. At 12:57am the second Cabinet-level official at the conference, Secretary of Agriculture Stephen Onassis, who also happens to be McCarthy's top boss, steps through the door and takes a seat.

An aide closes the door at 1:03pm, and McCarthy takes the cue to begin. Seeing that he has his audience's complete attention, McCarthy clears his throat. "Ladies and Gentlemen, these past several days we have seen some rather unusual events unfold in the state of California. According to the information that we have currently, we believe that this phenomenon began when Groundup SuperPower, the latest in the MalSanto Corporation's line of Groundupherbicide products, hit the shelves and were bought by local consumers. Field research led by myself and others has so far determined that application of the herbicide SuperPower causes the majority, if not all the earthworms in the affected region to die out within a matter of hours. The herbicide is designed to kill unwanted or harmful plants through toxic chemicals but should have little to no effect on native species in the affected area. This of course, has not always been the case in the past and there have been documented cases of herbicides killing native organisms unintentionally through their application."

"Research done by the USDA FSIS so far has concluded that glyphosate nor ispropylamine salt is responsible for causing the worm die-off. As of this moment, we do not have conclusive evidence as to the exact source of the toxicant. Over a hundred sites, as of 8:00am this morning, throughout southern California have already been identified as having been exposed and have lost over ninety-five percent of their earthworm populations within a matter of twenty four hours. Due to the virulent nature of this toxin many of the teams involved in this phenomenon strongly recommend that we remove Groundup SuperPower from the market until the cause of the earthworm die-out can be determined. Earthworms are overall very important in converting dead organic matter in the soil to humus, thus contributing to soil fertility. Earthworm castings are five times richer in nitrogen, seven times richer in phosphates, and eleven times richer in potash than the top six inches of average soil. Earthworms also keep the soil structure open by burrowing tunnels, allowing aeration and drainage to take place. All these characteristics make the earthworm an essential, if not invaluable, part of any garden or farm. By allowing this die-out to persist, many farmers in California and potentially the entire US may eventually suffer from an acute and severe shortage of earthworms in their soil, resulting in poor soil quality and subsequently poorer produce."

"The fact is that"- Onassis interrupts McCarthy with a wave of his hand, "Dr. McCarthy. You stated that this toxin of yours has a virulent nature? Do you believe that it is caused by a virus, and not a chemical as you suggest?" McCarthy takes a breath, before answering his boss, "It is a possibility, sir. Again, we simply haven't conducted enough tests yet to make a reasonable assessment. Most of the research done so far has been on-site with minimal equipment and time. We do know that so far every area that has had its worm populations die off was treated with Groundup SuperPower prior to having the worms die out. Right now all the evidence would suggest that some miniscule inactive ingredient in Groundup SuperPower is causing the worm populations to implode." "Thank you, Dr. McCarthy. Please continue." "Farmers who expose their crops to the element in question will be inviting catastrophe upon their earthworm populations. It is projected by worm ecologists that affected farmers will need several weeks to regain the lost populations in the areas around Bakersfield, California. This could caused a lower quality of crops to be produced, meaning lower sales on the markets and subsequently lower income for the farmers involved."

"In conclusion, it is the opinion of the USDA research team at FSIS and LA that the herbicide Groundup SuperPower be immediately recalled and its products removed from markets until a full inspection can be facilitated and their safety can be fully realized." McCarthy waited for a moment before the directors and agency chief broke the silence and started to debate amongst themselves what the next course of action should do. McCarthy silently hoped that they would heed his recommendation and those of the research teams, but he also realized that some of the people present at the committee meeting had many ties to companies such as MalSanto and Dupont and would be reluctant to take actions that would put those companies' products in jeopardy. Mike takes the opportunity to take a seat at the end of the conference table and sip a glass of water. Sczepanski catches Mike's eye and asks him, "Dr. McCarthy, how badly do you think Groundup SuperPower can damage farmers across the country in one week?" "Mrs. Sczepanski, I can't say for sure." Smiling at the evasion, she interrupts him. "Dr. McCarthy, you are used to working with farm-related chemicals and procedures. Give it an estimate." "Taking into account the damage this toxin has done in 2 days, coupled with the number of farms already affected, I would say that we could potentially be looking at billions of dollars in damage if it remains in farmers' hands for over two week. Who knows how many sites and how many earthworm populations will be lost. We may be able to see thousands of farms needing months to recover." "Thank you Dr. McCarthy", she replies as she turns away to speak with the other committee members. The rest of the committee is bogged down in intense debate between the members, some arguing for immediate recall while others are in favor of waiting for more research before taking any action.

Finally after two minutes of increasingly loud debate, Onassis slams his hand down on the conference table bringing the discussion to a sudden, deafening halt. The room quiets down immediately. "We are going to be issuing a recall of product number AG765892. Groundup SuperPower is to be recalled from the market effective immediately and an investigation will commence regarding MalSanto Corporation's research and development of this product. That is all, ladies and gentlemen." A stunned silence ensues in the room, only to be broken by a committee member getting up and leaving the room. The rest of the committee start to leave their seats and trickle out of the room as well, while McCarthy smiles inwardly to himself as he places his speech papers back into his briefcase. Onassis' aide is furiously typing on her Netbook as Onassis gathers his notes. McCarthy nods to Onassis as he gathers his briefcase and heads to the exit. "McCarthy, a moment." McCarthy stops, spins and approaches his boss of bosses. "Good speech. You'd make an decent addition here if you'd work in Washington." Not knowing how to respond, McCarthy replies with the obvious. "Thank you, sir. I don't know what to say." "Say nothing, then. I know that you're interested in returning to California, but you've got one last assignment here and then I promise you're going back." "What is that, sir?" "You're coming with me and my team to look over MalSanto's research and development of SuperPower. They better have a good explanation for this barely-averted fiasco." McCarthy sensed that he was in a unbreakable glass box, but he tried to break it anyway. "Sir, I don't know, my ticket says a return this afternoon," "A return to work!", exclaims Onassis jovially, patting McCarthy on the shoulder in a stereotypical boss-to-employee manner. "It's no big deal. You were there, you know this better than any of us here. You're going."

Having nothing else to say, McCarthy reluctantly offers a "Thank you, sir", as he shakes Onassis's hand and leaves the room. "We will be meeting in the Main Hall in one hour", calls out Onassis to the departing McCarthy who is already halfway out the door. McCarthy uses the restrooms and heads to the bottom floor Main Hall where a clerk gestured for him to come over. After leading McCarthy through a side hallway they enter a large room full of cubicles, computers, and assorted equipment. The Clerk types something on one computer and prints several sheets of paper. He then turns to McCarthy and hands him yet another set of airline tickets. _Darn, just what I need today. More plane trips._

Trying not to let his body's weariness and disappointment show on his face, McCarthy gives the clerk a smile as he takes the documents. On the paper ticket it reads: United Airlines Flight 709- Washington IAD–St. Louis STL. Behind the first ticket was an item that gave McCarthy a smile- another ticket for Saturday with the destination being San Francisco, California! _I'm only going to stay in St. Louis for two days!_ _That might even make this trip more enjoyable!_ The only downside is that Stefanie will have to be called and told that Jake will have to stay at her house for the weekend. _Hmmm, she's not going to like that very much._ Deciding to call his ex-wife from the airport, McCarthy heads outside the EPA building to find some lunch to eat. Going through the throngs of the equally-hungry lunchtime crowd on the street, he finds a Subway using his Iphone. McCarthy enters, orders an Italian sandwich with no onions and tries to enjoy the fifteen minutes spent eating it. After wrapping up lunch, he heads back to the EPA headquarters and sits on one of the waiting benches. Soon a crowd of a about half a dozen well-dressed people congregates near him. Figuring that this is the team going to St. Louis, McCarthy grabs his briefcase and heads over to join them. In five minutes he is proven correct when Stephen Onassis joins the group, and a limousine shows up outside. The EPA leadership and McCarthy pile into the long, black car with tainted windows as it pulls off the curve taking them on their trip to St. Louis.

04 PROPAGATION

UN Headquarters, New York

For the past two hours delegates and representatives had taken the podium and been rattling off their list of complaints, accusations, and recommendations to the executives of the World Food Programme. A long line of Ambassadors to the United Nations had been going over their governments' critiques of the World Food Programme in front of the Panel. Speeches varied from praise to outright claims of racism, from ten minutes to thirty. Manjak sat through the tiresome tirades and the self-helping praise mostly because he had nothing better to do. He also realized that all of the information given at this meeting could be very useful in the context of understanding Bao's alleged large corruption underneath the surface. Feng was naturally situated at the head of the committee listening to the representatives' speeches.

The ambassador of Mali came next; this time it was an appraisal. He believed that, "The WFP is doing what no other humanitarian organization seems capable of doing", and that, "We are all eternally grateful for your help during the food crisis last year, despite some problems such as slowness of transport and lack of adequate security at the airport". Manjak privately held that the UN shouldn't be charged with security at the airport, but that should be the role of the government in question. Maybe that policy should be re-examined. UN troops would only be sent if there was a high risk, but apparently a large amount of food had also been stolen by gangs and corrupt officials in Mali.

Manjak kept in mind that these criticisms would pale compared to the criticism he would receive from these same representatives when they reviewed his strategic plan for the next two years. The World Food Programme, despite many difficulties and logistics problems, is seen by many of the Third World's nations as a much more effective program than the FAO. The FAO was increasingly seen by many countries as becoming obsolete, expensive, and downright useless. Manjak silently hopes that that sentiment has not spread to the Senior Management team, but confidently believes that even if it did, his proposal may change their minds. One of his major proposals includes bringing the World Food Programme back under the umbrella of the FAO, instead of acting as a separate organization. The WFP is directly responsible for administering and delivering the Food Aid shipments to other countries, and Manjak believes that if under FAO not only would that shorten the administrative hierarchy, but it would also once again give FAO a direct hand in food aid. In recent years FAO focused more on pro-active programs such as pest management, food price initiatives, local food growth programs, and the World Food summit.

The meeting concluded after three hours, Manjak spending the last hour on the phone with Pereira going over updates from around the world. Bao Feng walks over as the committee disbands, asking him, "What do you think?" "Hmmm, other than you're getting credit for what we should be doing? This is the usual. Its always the same story, as if they expect us to be able to load those planes any faster." "I know. I try to make a schedule beforehand and give it to the local governments. They are rarely satisfied however, even when they know exactly when each shipment should arrive. And our planes are usually on time!" "Of course!", replies Trip with a supportive smile. Barring atmospheric disturbances and the occasional hurricane, he knows that Bao would make her appointments on schedule. That would include delivering supplies when she promised she would.

He doesn't however, know how she would react to his new strategic plan; and he doesn't feel like finding out right now. _What if she doesn't like it? She has gotten very used to independent functioning, if the FAO were to butt in. . ._ movement to the left catches Trip's attention, derailing his process of thoughts. It is Zihgneg Nahk, Deputy Secretary-General. Known as being a relatively quiet man who would work behind the scenes letting others get the spotlight, the short man with short straight black hair is generally regarded by most with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. His eyes, however, dart everywhere when he goes around, as if he is trying to immediately take into account everything about his new environment. The blonde-haired Swede Hartaagnaan usually got most of the world's attention, but to Manjak at least it seemed that most of the intelligence of the organization was due to the efforts of Nahk, and not Hartaagnaan, who was more known as a frequent jet-setter and centerpiece of media spotlight.

"Good morning, sir. How are we doing today?", inquires Trip politely to his relatively obscure boss. "Quite well, Mr. Manjak.", comes the reply in his soft, raspy voice. "I have been here at the meeting over the last hour, as you may have noticed." Manjak hadn't noticed until two minutes ago. "I am confident that Mrs. Feng is doing her utmost, I believe that you recommended her for the position in the first place." "That is correct, sir, I did. I knew she was right for the job." "You choose wisely, Mr. Manjak. So. You are here to present a new plan to Haartaagnan?" "Actually, yes. I should be meeting with him and yourself, sir, in less than two hours." "Yes. Very well then, and good luck. See you in two hours." Shaking his hand again, Manjak sees the Deputy Secretary-General leave the conference room for some other location with his two aides in tow. Bao has in the meantime been in conversation with the UN Ambassador from Indonesia, which seemed to Manjak to be pointed and in heat. Deciding to get lunch, an activity that always brought him great joy since he was more aware of food security than most people in the world, Manjak headed towards the Secretariat cafeteria located the next floor down.

Manjak, who generally only had one large meal a day, tried to enjoy the turkey sandwish and salad while going over his prepared speech to the Senior Management Group. _I really hate the Senior Mangement. All they do is talk, and then they may deny me the money needed for my reforms. Bao is ok, but as she said –can I trust the rest?_ His phone rings – who would be calling me now?- prompting Trip to answer in the middle of a mouthful. "Hello? Trip Manjak, FAO." "Trip!", comes the all-too familiar voice of his wife Sofia, "How is New York? Did you see my family yet?" "Are you talking about me? Or Luis?" Trip hears Sofia laugh over the line, "You!! Well, I was referring to Luis." "I can't get out of the city, honey, and you know that. Whenever I don't have a meeting I'm invited to a new one. Its really rather fascinating." "I can imagine. So when are you going to be back?" "I should be back in Rome in about two more days. That's 48 hours querida" "You are sooo not funny. Kisses." Manjak blows a kiss into the phone and hangs up. He forgot to tell her about his return ticket as usual, but since she used to work for the UN she is usually forgiving of his quack, unpredictable and abrupt schedules. The twins weren't nearly as forgiving as their mother, until they turned 16 and started enjoying his time away from home. Which is why Manjak made sure he was at home as much as often during weekends.

After finishing the rest of his lunch Manjak arrives in front of the Economic and Social Council Chamber one hour ahead of schedule. His massive 120 page strategy outline is in his left hand, while his laptop is held firmly by his right. He enters the Chamber and sits down, setting up his laptop. The Chamber, designed by Swedish architect Swen Markelius, uses red Swedish pine wood for the room's walls, railings, and doors. Pipes and venting are uncovered on the ceiling, done intentionally by Markelius to symbolize that the UN's social and economic work is never fully finished. The chamber is rumored to be Hartaagnaan's favorite chamber, but whether this is due to the unorthodox architecture or the fact that the architect was also a Swede is unknown. The layout includes a small central table with seating for fourteen flanked on three sides by rows of seats for members of the council and onlookers. On the fourth and final side lies the raised seven-seat table reserved for the directors at the conference. After forty minutes the Senior Management starts appearing in droves, including the Directors for the Refugee Agency, peacekeeping Operations, Field Support, Management, Safety and Security, Environmental Programme, and Economic and Social Affairs, along with their aides. Bao Feng arrives with the rest of the Secretariat. Hartaagnan arrived in the Council Chamber after another ten minutes, taking his seat at the center of the long table on the raised dais. Manjak uploaded his presentation to the computer and turned on the projector, allowing the screen in the corner of the chamber to hum to life. The directors at the head table would have to seat slanted to their left to view Manjak's visual presentation, but they would also see him when they sat looking straight. Manjak paces around the central table, anxiously waiting to begin his presentation.

The moment Hartaagnaan takes his seat he motions for all present to quiet down and be seated. "This is an official meeting of the Secretariat, to assess a proposed new direction for the Food and Agriculture Organization. Deputy Director-General Manjak, please begin. We are listening to your proposal." Eagerly, Manjak sums up his energy and gestures around the room with his hands, "Members of the Secretariat. Over the years it has become apparent to myself and many of us at the FAO that discrepancies have started to occur between our objectives and goals, and what we have actually been accomplishing so far. We have created many new programs, spent much new money, but all to what avail? I am here to present to you first, the evidence that FAO may reduce its spending on non-critical programs by up to 30%, and use this to expand programs that require more funding but have not been receiving it." _I'm throwing you a bone here, Zafir._ Manjak clicks to move the slide presentation along. "We have created programs as wide in range from the International Alliance against Hunger, TeleFood, the Goodwill Ambassadors, and an Investment Center. The goals of these programs are worthy, yet many of them are overlapping in nature. If larger, more centralized agencies are created from numerous smaller ones, more resources and funding can be devoted to solving problems than if these resources and funding is split. Another problem is the splitting of critical components of the FAO into splinter groups that, while effective, would be better off as part of a larger, more resourceful organization." The slide that Manjak puts up on the screen shows a huge spider's web of competing interactions amongst the various agencies of the FAO.

"I propose that FAO be reorganized into three primary branches. The first will be the SOFS- the Support and Funding Services. The second will be an R & D division. The final will be the WFP- World Food Programme." Manjak pauses to take a sip of water, noticing that Feng is now paying rapt attention to his every word. The rest of the Secretariat members are also fixating him with stares, some blandly shocked at his blunt proposal, others shielding their thoughts through misty eyes. All are focused on his every word. "The SOFS should be an integration of all fundraising programs, including celebrity sponsorship, media relations, concerts, to government grants. Every bit of support regardless of its source should be coordinated under one agency. Regardless of whether we talk about earmarked funds or donations for NGOs, one office to coordinate that and coordinate codes of funding, support, summits, conferences, and the like. Good examples of current programs that fall under these categories are Telefood and Goodwill Ambassadors. The SOFS will also be responsible for maintaining the Codex Alimentarius, since codes of standards for food labeling, additives, pesticides, and food safety are all administrative support issues. FAOSTAT will also be the responsibility of the SOFS. This will make SOFS the largest of the three branches, but should take many burdens off the other two."

"The R & D Group will have a different task. Their purpose will be to coordinate with agricultural research corporations, biotechnology companies, and NGOs to develop new ways of strategic problem solving. Basically, covering any problems from increasing crop output to dealing with pests and agricultural diseases. I consider there to be overlap between these fields, they are all long-term problems that have no short-term solutions. Joint-programs with local governments and farmers will be headed by the R & D division. Construction of local farming industry, field assessments, and independent agricultural research will all be headed by this department. The purpose of this is to diversify our activities and find common solutions to common problems. It would be wasteful not to combine say, the United States' agricultural research efforts with that of South Africa. Basically, all development aid will be the responsibility of R&D."

"The final goal is important relating to the first. FAO needs one rapid-response agency, not a hundred." Some heads nod silently in response to Manjak's jab. "The World Food Programme should be brought completely under our mandate and their resources and budgets integrated with our own. Its staff and equipment should be part of FAO but as a separate agency. Rapid response to flooding, earthquakes, famines, warfare, and other catastrophes can be accomplished with The WFP. I must also take into account that in recent years the WFP has become the largest humanitarian organization in the world, and is the primary arm of the United Nations in distributing food aid to victims of natural disasters and warzones. The WFP will continue to draw on its current sources to provide the necessary food to be used as food aid."

"FAO is the world's primary organization for food and agriculture. Despite the WFP's budget being over ten times our own, we feel that the WFP's missions is also covered by our own jurisdiction and that by merging our combined resources we would be better able to respond to emergencies around the world. While FAO has some control through executive appointments, we feels that it will be better if WFP is integrated a branch of the FAO, as it has been during the 1950's. This arrangement, though it may seem burgeoning at the beginning, will soon streamline the process and speed at which FAO not only responds to emergencies, but also the speed at which we can foster development in the countries that need it. The full proposal has been submitted to each and every one of you and should be available on your computers for further reference."

Manjak takes a break, trying to catch the eye of everyone seated around the chamber. Executives of one agency or another start to discuss quietly amongst themselves the implications of Manjak's request, noting the vast changes that it will bring. Veiled underneath is the stealthy accusation that the current Director-General isn't nearly doing as much as Manjak would like to, and Manjak's thought that he should be replaced. Once the whispering reaches an more audible level, Secretary-General Hartaagnan calls for order in the room, before speaking aloud. "First of all, thank you to Director Manjak for your time and consideration in preparing this proposal. Your proposition for restructuring FAO will also be reviewed by the General Assembly. The Conference of Member States will decide whether this is to be approved or not. That is all." Hartaagnaan gets up from his seat, coming over to Manjak. The rest of the council disperse slowly as each heads to their own destination. Hartaagnaan comes close to Manjak as the men shake hands, softly telling Manjak that, "A good idea. I hope your proposal is approved. It is worth a try. But many will not like it." "I know that, sir. I need more authority to enact the changes. I also need the Conference's approval for re-integrating WFP." "This is true. I will work my best to see that we overcome the obstacles facing your proposal." With that Hartaagnan leaves Manjak to the rest of the management team, who swoop down to offer quick tastes of their thoughts on his proposal. Comments such as "questionable, but possibly do-able", to "about time FAO starts getting stuff done" illustrate the range of opinions held by the Secretariat's executive staff.

Not surprisingly, Bao Feng is amongst the last of the Secretariat to speak with Manjak. Manjak is surprised at her lightly toned surprise. "I liked that. Quick, concise, and to the point." Trip couldn't read her expression but knew that this talk would be very important if his plan was to succeed. "And about that point, I didn't know you wanted WFP under your belt. Why didn't you tell me earlier?", huffed Feng indignantly. Manjak took a deep breath. "Sorry, Bao, but it would have been re-mature to mention this earlier to you. The other secretariat people would then already know my idea. But I can tell you, its not like I will be ordering you around if the proposal goes through." "Trip, I have worked years to try making the WPF as effective as it is today. We don't have the $6.7 billion that I requested, sadly only $2.3 billion, but I manage. And I manage very well with what I have, I have worked hard to maintain schedules, to secure donors, to find available food to be distributed. What will happen when FAO is put in charge of those processes?" Manjak knew that Feng couldn't possibly have read all the details given in his full proposal, detailed in the .pdf file that he sent to the Secretariat an hour ago. "Don't worry, you will still have control over all those processes. And you should know that I will basically support almost any one of your initiatives. But having you in the FAO will boost our credentials as well. Besides, I will then be able to focus on research and development efforts instead of catering to Maurice's slow-paced and honestly, rather useless projects. He is more focused on gathering media attention, celebrities, and Hollywood actors than in actually tackling the problems in the third world. We're starting to look like show business. I have no problem with that, per se. Show business and the media is great when you're need to attract more of the public's attention, and when you are trying to gather funds. Those people do help us a lot with donations and funding. But Maurice has become distracted with this, way too much. His paycheck is also preposterous, but that's a separate story." Feng takes a moment to respond. "Maurice really has gone off on a little tangent. But that's not my problem." "Look, Bao. You are one of the best executive directors that the WFP has ever had. FAO has been going down while you have been going up. But what the world needs is FAO, in the long run. We develop the initiatives that will still be in place two decades from now, we make sure that overfishing doesn't kill off our next tuna sandwich lunch and we make sure a huge swarm of locusts doesn't go around eating crops intended for people. I have always admired your work with the WFP, and I don't know where we would be without you. But WFP is a band-aid, and FAO is the healing cure. WFP would be much better as a massive branch of FAO than swinging off by itself. One agency to have complete record, control, and decision-making capabilities with regards to our most precious resources- our food supply."

Manjak pauses. He wants, needs Bao to agree with him on this one if his proposal is to succeed. "Maybe you should read the full thing. You talk to no one but the Director-General, everything else is just as you do now. Basically." Bao thinks about it for a second, shifting her feet. "I should look at it. But that would also mean that Maurice will be running the WFP." "Maurice? He's too busy trying to get more interviews on CNN. Besides, maybe in a year he'll retire." "Unlikely. A funny idea though, Trip. I don't think so." "We'll see. Anyway, read my proposal. You'll like it!" Bao smiles, paraphrasing him: "We'll see", before leaving the dark red Economic and Social Council Chamber. Manjak, confident that Bao Feng will follow his logic and be supportive of his plan by the end of the day, is the last person from the meeting to walk out the room. But he is likely the most content at that moment.

St. Louis, Missouri, USA

The 'gateway to the west' no longer is as large a transportation hub as it used to be during the late nineteenth century, but what the railroad once did for its economy is now done by many leading public corporations, including Boeing Defense Systems, Wachovia Securities, and the MalSanto Company. The sky is a clear blue with no clouds as the American Airlines flight with most of the senior USDA leadership aboard touches down at Lambert International Airport. The trip to MalSanto headquarters, located on 1800 north Lindbergh Blvd. approximately 15 kilometers (9miles) from downtown St. Louis, is a ten minute drive south from the airport. The quick car ride is mostly spent in silence, until Onassis receives a call from someone and starts talking quickly. His gruff voice tells McCarthy that no good news has come up, and whoever is on the other side of the line probably is the harbinger of simply more bad news. Onassis turns to McCarthy in the sedan, his face a stern mask of ice. "Los Angeles reports that most of the Los Angeles area has the affliction. They say that people report worms coming out of their front lawns, their gardens, all over their driveways. They say in Long Beach, East Los Angeles, even in downtown, there are worms coming up on the sidewalks. People are wondering what is going on." Onassis pauses. "Hell, we don't know what is really going on, and that's scary." McCarthy is taken aback by the USDA's directors' frank description of the situation in Los Angeles. _I leave home for 24 hours, and look what happens._ "Sir, how has the situation spread so fast? I was gathering samples around Bakersfield, and now most of Los Angeles has the same problem. Bakersfield is at least 100 miles from LA. Let's assume that over 10,000 people used Groundup SuperPower in the Los Angeles area within the last two days. That may be the reason why this conflagration has spread so far and so wide in such a short amount of time. But then, it should also have been reported in San Francisco, in Las Vegas, even in Idaho to be honest. Where was Groundup SuperPower the first to hit the shelves at the local home depot?" Onassis is thinking the same thoughts that are currently racing through McCarthy's already overtaxed mind, but he has one addition resource- all the information of USDA at his fingertips. "McCarthy, you don't need to go that far ahead. According to MalSanto's data which they sent me personally today, the first batch to hit stores was released in Los Angeles. The rest of the shipments went to market two days ago around the rest of the country; or as you said Idaho. All those other shipments are being recalled right now. They will be sent back to MalSanto's warehouses until we are finished with our investigation." Onassis gets back on the phone, adding, "I'm going to have to talk to Washington on this one. It's not that I'm worried about farmers not getting their new herbicide, they still have all the others already out now. But what happens to the whole southern section of California. Where is that worm guy, I need him now?!"

McCarthy remembers the report sent to him by the worm ecology expert, Gonzalo Rodriguez. "Mr. Rodriguez? He is in LA I think. He sent you his report, sir, before sending it to me." "I know that, McCarthy, but having his report and having him here to explain to MalSanto's guys in person what their product is doing are two different things. You read his report again and if I ask you anything about it, you better know." That gave McCarthy something to do, although not what he would have preferred. McCarthy pulls out Rodriguez's report on the importance of worms in the soil and how LA might be affected by the worm die-out. Just then the car pulls into MalSanto's multi-building world headquarters, leaving McCarthy with a set of papers in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Clumsily grabbing everything, he follows Onassis out of the car. The rest of the USDA team gets out of the first sedan that arrived moments before theirs did. MalSanto's top brass, aware for several hours now that their latest product is facing immediate recall and realizing that media publicity from this affair could lead to a major loss for their company, are waiting outside the MalSanto World Headquarters building, a sore eye-point composed of three roughly cubical shapes made out of dark blackish glass. Surrounded by stale grassland and green summer forest, along with sprawling parking and highways, the complex itself gives off an aura of dichotomy between life and lifelessness.

The presence of the multitude of people in business formal suits dispenses any ideas of lifelessness in the environment. Onassis is the first to introduce himself to the MalSanto executive board, starting with company Chairman and CEO Patrick L. Walter. The two men, both having been acquaintances for over two decades, share a cordial greeting. McCarthy comes after a host of other USDA personnel, noticing Walter's unusually strong handshake as he introduces himself. Next comes Mary LoSchiavo, a brunette of average height in a smart business suit. She introduces herself to McCarthy as the Commercial Vice President and GroundupDivision President. _Hmm, that is important. If Grounduphas a problem she won't like it._ McCarthy makes a mental note to keep track of her throughout the inspection tour. Two other Executive Vice Presidents of the company are also present, although unlike Walter and LoSchiavo they are not purposefully taking center stage in the short greeting ceremony. After the two groups have been thoroughly introduced and start to intermingle slowly, Walter speaks up. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it my pleasure to welcome you all to our headquarters here in St. Louis. While I wish I could have gotten to know each and every one of you under more favorable circumstances, I am still proud to present to you the wonders of our company here at MalSanto headquarters." McCarthy wondered if the pomp was necessary; after all, most of the USDA was well aware of MalSanto's activities. "If you'll step this way, we can get right down to our processes and procedures for our latest Groundupproduct, aptly named _SuperPower_."

In the long, gleaming corridors of the facility, Walter leads the USDA team through a series of parallel corridors filled with adjacent meeting rooms, IT service areas, Server storage areas, and more meeting rooms. Along the way he continues explaining the history of SuperPower's development. "Last year, many of our customers were becoming eager for a new product. Our older version of Grounduphave been losing their efficiency when dealing with some of the latest weed varieties out there." McCarthy had read the reports and was predicting Walter's speech as the group was led into a long, only semi-lit underground corridor. "We are fairly certain that glyphosate, nor any non-active ingredient in Groundup SuperPower, is responsible for this catastrophe." Onassis interrupts the defensive Walter with a punctuating growl. "Walter, please don't give us that excuse right now. We want to see the schematics, the blueprints for the herbicide. Including each and every non-active ingredient. My staff members will review in conjunction with yours." Still leading the group, Walter responds darkly. "Every single product we put out there in the market is federally approved by both the USDA _and_ the EPA before a single farmer can buy it. SuperPower was already once carefully inspected and, you, _all of you_ , claimed that it would be a much-needed upgrade to the PowerMax , BioForce, and Ready Rate brands that were being used before SuperPower. Yet now you claim that our new product is responsible for killing your worms!" "Not our worms, Patrick, everybody's worms." soothes Onassis to the clearly flustered and angry CEO. "Trust me, if no evidence is found that your inactive ingredients are responsible the product will be allowed back on the market at fast as possible."

Patrick Walter considers the Secretary of Agriculture's words for a moment before replying, "Very well. I guess this is a gesture of good faith then.", as he steps back to the front. McCarthy, knowing that no one is buying any more SuperPower from the shelves as of the day's morning, wonders privately if the contamination continues to spread around the Los Angeles metro area or if LaJoy and his team are experiencing elation with a break in the number of phone calls their office is receiving. Shaking out of his vague daydreaming thoughts, McCarthy focuses back on the here and now. The two dozen executives and government officials walk through the narrow, grey corridor that connects the two large building complexes of MalSanto headquarters. Passing from the black western complex and underneath the highway, McCarthy hears the faint humming of hundreds of cars speeding at sixty miles per hour over his head. Another five minutes of walking brings the group to a heavy set of doors leading to a brighter, seemingly more solid set of corridors. A large door on the right of this hallway marked "Authorized Personnel Only- GroundupDivision II" was where Walter stopped the group at. Mary LoSchiavo, until now trailing her boss, spoke openly for the first time. "This is our room devoted for the past three years exclusively to Groundup SuperPower research and development. The room you are about to see has all the elements of a Gene gun lab, a plant tissue culture lab, and a growth chamber. You will all have the privilege of being the first non-employees of the company to be shown this laboratory." Taking a hold of the large chain of keys from around her neck, LoSchiavo picks an access smartcard from the chain and swipes at the door's entry mechanism. A green light flashes over the door indicating that the door is unlocked. LoSchiavo opens the door and motions for everyone to step inside.

"Since the first days of Project SuperPower we have tested the herbicide's new properties against all the varieties of weeds that farmers in the US, and the world, would face. We made sure that we are prepared to deal not only with common species, but with unusual and exotic varieties as well, such as chocolate vines and sacred lotus. More importantly, we tested multiple times one of Cleanup's most important qualities: that it has no effect once in contact with soil. Since its inception decades ago, Grounduphas focused on inhibiting the production of the enzyme EPSP, which is vital for the plant to manufacture amino acids necessary for metabolic growth. Glyphosate also attacks the plants rhizomes and roots, leading to death and decomposition within a few days. Glyphosate will not attack non-target vegetation, nor will it move through the soil through the root system. It is designed to destroy the green, living parts of invasive species. In fact it will bind tightly to most soil particles before being degraded and decomposed."

LoSchiavo knows that this is common knowledge to most MalSanto employees, but she enforces the point forcefully to the USDA officials who seem to think of the perfectly safe herbicide as a threat to their precious worms. _For years it hasn't harmed other animals, why all of a sudden would it kill a billion worms? Its not a virus or something!_

McCarthy, on the other hand, takes every one of LoSchiavo's words with a hint of salt. _She is after all, a high level employee and would never say anything counterproductive to the company_. McCarthy interjects LoSchiavo before she can continue. "Mrs. LoSchiavo, could metabolite components such as AMPA and POEA provoke reactions within earthworm digestive or immune systems? I understand that you make sure that ppm concentration of these metabolites are kept under the maximum safe level for humans, but you have never tested the ppm levels currently used in Groundupon insects or earthworms?" LoSchiavo turns around to face McCarthy, her eyes locked onto his for daring to ask such a question. "Mr. McCarthy, human safety is our primary concern. It would be a waste to be researching effects on insignificant organisms when we are already so much time and money into making sure that our products have no effect on people." "But it would seem that the species in question isn't nearly as 'insignificant' as you make it out to be. Earthworms are as critical to the environment as any species can be. Do you know what would happen to your product if it were to destroy all the worms on a farmer's land? The land would be lacking in nutrients, non-aerated, and all the weeds that Groundupwould have 'decomposed' the previous year would be left rotting on the surface. Basically the land would be unusable, no crops would be able to grow properly, and maybe the weeds would take over. But then there would be no market for your products if there are no crops to be protected, right? Ma'am, no worms in the soil means no market share for Groundup SuperPower." Everyone around is taken aback by McCarthy's fierce response, the MalSanto executives reeling back in horror at his words. However, while LoSchiavo continues burning into McCarthy with a venomous glare, a slow, somber expression of realization comes across Walter's face. He breaks the tension by asking the redundant question. "Are you saying, Dr. McCarthy, that by withdrawing our latest product you believe that we are saving our largest market from a catastrophe that our product allegedly causes?" McCarthy swallows. "Yes, sir, that is basically my point. It if doesn't cause it, well, the precautions would justify itself by keeping the market, basically the farming industry, a safe distance away from a potential danger. If SuperPower is in fact the cause of the worm die-off, then that danger is real and preventing the farmers from acquiring it keeps your future markets intact. After all, I believe that you can easily continue to market PowerMax, Bioforce, and every other Ground upline product. Every other Groundup product has come out and none of them have the correlation to a massive die-out as SuperPower."

"What you say is true, Dr. McCarthy." Onassis comes to McCarthy's defense, while simultaneously trying to comfort his old friend Patrick Walter. "Look, this could merely be a timing issue. After all, other possibilities that have been proposed range from wild new environmental conditions to an unidentified worm epizootic. But these are more unlikely, and unfortunately the worms are being affected at exactly the same time and locations where Groundup SuperPower is being first marketed." Walter, whose flushness of the face has started to visibly fade, calms after hearing those few key words from Onassis. "Very well then. Can you start work on this research immediately?" Onassis replies, "Dr. McCarthy will stay here along with a few of my other people to run tests. I've ordered samples brought here ASAP. I've also asked for the best environmental scientists, molecular biologists, and virologists to come down here and give their opinions, and see if they can come up with something." Realizing that the conversation has shifted, LoSchiavo drops the ball and looks up to Walter for instructions. "We need to go over the legalities and recall procedures for SuperPower." Reminds Onassis, speaking to Walter and the rest of the MalSanto executives. "I'll leave McCarthy, Jones, and La Cruz here while we go back to your office and work on the recall. I want to make sure every single container is accounted for. McCarthy, Jones, La Cruz; you three stay here and start coming up with control experiments, tests, any ideas to determine the correlation between worms and SuperPower."

While the top executives file out of the GroundupDivision II room, LoSchiavo stays with the three USDA researchers assigned by Onassis to stay put and devise solutions. Knowing that SuperPower was directly under her supervision, LoSchiavo feels compelled to stay and work with the USDA scientists to disprove the alleged link between the hodgepodge of crazy events that have recently unfolded and the project that has taken the last two years of her life. She looks over at McCarthy, Jones, and La Cruz. A tall blonde man, an even taller African American, and a shorter man who may have passed as a Hispanic in most states. Gathering her strength after the quick succession of arguments, LoSchiavo started. "Gentlemen, my apologies for any inconveniences in this little shake-up. I assure you that our CEO Mr. Patrick Walter is simply flustered by all these recent events, not to mention this assumed relationship between SuperPower and the worms disaster unfolding in Los Angeles. I've read the reports, and believe me, I find the reports of environmental changes and epizootics much more likely than it being a result of SuperPower. As you all know, herbicides are specifically designed to kill plants, not organisms."

McCarthy interjects. "Ma'am, I've also read the reports and from what I can tell there is no new environmental phenomenon that could be causing the worms to die. I've been at the sites myself, and from what I've seen and tested with my team soil moisture is usual, soil temperature is normal to the 0.5 of a degree, precipitation is average, soil aeration is average. The chances, or should I say probability, of _this_ die-out being caused by some environmental change is remote. Sunlight levels are average for lower California, precipitation this season is normal . . . which is to say almost nothing, barely 0.10 inches over the month. Every soil sample we tested was fine, and the water has no element in it that we haven't detected before. Although the EPA should be doing their own tests to the water as well." McCarthy looks at LoSchiavo, who is quickly running possibilities through her head. "What about a spill from a refinery, chemical plant? There are hundreds of chemical-products companies around Santa Monica. Have you investigated them?" La Cruz brings his points up. "Yes there are many corporations involved with chemical products in LA, but this started in Bakersfield. The first place, the first city that had access to Groundup SuperPower." McCarthy adds, "Not only that, but if we were dealing with an oil spill we would know about already. Everything would be contaminated with the oil in a large radius around the source. We have found not a drop of unexpected oil or petroleum of any kind at any site that I have been at. And our office at LA reports the same."

"What about an epizootic?", presses LoSchiavo. "Have you even considered that? We're so focused on avian and swine influenzas, we forgot that other animals can be affected as well. Have you even though of worm flu?" "Worm flu? The idea is preposterous, arthropod diseases don't spread that fast!", interjects Jones. "Actually, some do", corrects McCarthy, "Fire ant disease has been known to reduce colony sizes by over sixty percent. And there is Colony Collapse Disorder in honey bees. We don't even know the cause of that, even though the disease has been around for years. But valid theories out there claim that the cause is some unusual spore called Israel Acute Paralysis Virus. Are you suggesting that the worms are being killed by a virus or unidentified spore?"

"That's precisely what I'm suggesting!", replies LoSchiavo, "you need a team of virologists and biologists to examine those worms as much as a team of environmental scientists and chemists. Tell me you're doing that before we go on." McCarthy answers, "Ma'am, we are doing that. But it'll be a while before that team is assembled. To be honest, I don't know how they are proceeding in LA right now. Maybe they've already got the microbiology and virology guys there already." "Let's hope so.", answers LoSchiavo, "Well, enough premature talking. Lets start our analysis of the herbicide by looking at the diagrams of the SuperPower compound". . . .

Houston, Texas

In his laboratory at CBEID, a thousand tiny H5N2 virus samples stare back at V.K. Krishnan through the lens of his Titan Cubed microscope. The massive machine, twice as tall as a man and many times as heavy, hums softly as it increases the resolution of his image by hundreds of thousands of times. The tiny viruses, tube-like in shape, swirl in the gel before his eyes and on the monitor attached to the microscope. He watches the viruses as a swarm of newly developed antibodies enters from a precisely-calculated injection. The antibodies begin to attach themselves to the H5N2 tubules as -Ring!! The laboratory phone jolts Krishnan out of his concentration-induced visual stupor. _Darn that phone! Interrupting me in the middle of this critical test!_ Knowing that the computer is monitoring and recording the entire dance of the microbes happening under the 80-300 Cubed, Krishnan swivels his chair and rolls himself across the room to the phone.

"Dr. Krishnan speaking. Who is this?" "Good Morning, Dr. Krishnan. This is Peter LaJoy from the US Department of Agriculture. We have a situation in California that requires your attention. We were wondering if you could be so kind as render your assistance?" "What kind of a situation? You are probably not aware of this Mr. LaJoy, but I'm running a rather important experiment right now on an avian flu variant and it would be rather unseemly if I simply got up and left." "Dr. Krishnan, perhaps you should take a look at the fax that I sent your office. Then you can make your mind up. My number is included in the fax." With that, LaJoy hung up the phone. _Great, this guy is taking my time off an important experiment. Government type, though, so whatever he wants is probably not that trivial._ Krishnan thinks to himself as he exits the lab and heads into the adjoining room looking over at his fax machine. Seeing one of his assistant professors in the room, Krishnan calls out to him, "Hey Wang! I've got something here and the H5N2 antibody test running in there! Make sure it's all recorded and stored!" Seeing Wang hurry into the lab, Krishnan turns back to the fax. It is a copy of a lengthy report on worms, herbicides, and environment. _What the hell?_ Noticing the date to be from yesterday, Krishnan prints the document and spends twenty minutes reading it. _Worms dying all over Los Angeles? Possible connection to MalSanto SuperPower herbicide; New markets for the new herbicide which was just introduced affected, other offered explanations include a new epizootic and new unseen soil conditions. . . wow, this is strange._

After reading the report a second time, Krishnan dials the phone number given at the end of the fax. "Dr. Krishnan here. May I speak to Mr. Peter LaJoy?" "This is LaJoy. I take it you read our little article. Fascinating, isn't it?" "Truly. What do you need me for?" "You're one of the world's most renowned virologists, Doctor. I need you here to tell me if we are dealing with a virus. Right now MalSanto is the only one who really wants to fly with that story, everyone else involved here including the EPA, USDA, FDA, and so on think that this is a negative response on the worms' part to some ingredient of their new herbicide. Whether it is or is not an epizootic I need to know now, and I need you here to tell me." "That shouldn't be too much of a problem. I will need to get to California first. . ." "That's taken care of. I've already arranged for your plane tickets. I also need to know ASAP if, assuming it is a virus, if it can be transmitted to humans." "Yes, of course. I'll be there as soon as possible." "See you soon." With a click the phone hangs up and Krishnan is left wondering how his day had changed so quickly.

"Wang, do everything as stated in the test procedure and record it all! I'll be out for a day or two.", he calls out to Wang. Just because he is heading to California in two hours doesn't mean that the H5N2 experiments need to be stopped. Taking off his lab coat, Krishnan hangs it up on the rack and leaves the CBEID building., walking out onto UTMB's sprawled green and concrete campus. Getting into his four-year old Mazda Six Krishnan turns on the engine , pulls out of the parking and heads for Houston International.

Port of Long Beach, Los Angeles

As the second-busiest port in the United States, the Port of Long Beach receives a huge amount of traffic in and out of its harbor every day. With over 80 ship berths, the port handles over $100 billion in exports and imports annually and provides jobs for over 300,000 people in the state of California. A massive quantity of containers is processed at the port every day, primarily from Taiwan, China, South Korea, and Japan. Long Beach serves as a major seaport gateway for U.S.- Asia trade, and as such thousands of items such as cars, electronics, furniture, toys, and home appliances are shipped in every day. U.S. exports flowing through Long Beach to Asian destinations include, amongst other things, a significant quantity of lactose, horticultural, and seafood products.

During the daytime the port is a bustle of hundreds of dockworkers, ship crews, cranes, trains, and trucks rushing to designated positions in order to unload their cargo and pick up new cargo. The docks are full of a multi-colored array of boxes stored in neat rows throughout the vast concrete decks adjacent to the docked ships. Huge cranes, both onboard the ships and on shore, move the crates to and from the cargo holds and decks onto awaiting trucks.

During the nighttime the buzz of activity quiets down but does not cease entirely. The third shift is as active as the first and second despite having less dockworkers and staff on hand than the first two. Miguel Sanchez is one of the supervisors during third shift at the Port. Waking up at 8:30pm every day he usually arrives at work at 9:45pm to begin work at ten. It is a grueling shift where workers must rely on light from flashlights, lights from hardhats, overhead lights, and other artificial light sources. During 2-4am most people feel groggy, extremely tired, and ready to fall asleep, despite it only being 4-5 hours into the workday. Scientists have referred to this period of the 24-hour cycle as the "zombie hour". Determined not to let this deter him, Sanchez makes sure that he has his usual two cups of coffee around 1am while on the job. He duties include making sure that all the shipping crates carrying are safely packaged and secure for transport, and make sure that those under his supervision do their work properly.

Many of the third shift dock crews drink coke, Red Bull, and other caffeinated drinks to keep them on edge during this part of the night. Looking over a crate labeled "McGreenery", Sanchez identifies the item as a crate full of olives bound for Shanghai, China. Ordering his workers to get the case onto the container ship, he fails to notice the slight crack at the bottom of the wooden crate. Tiredly, he watches a forklift pick up the crate and haul it to a crane operated by a worker before focusing on the next crate. The crane picks up the crate and loads it onto the waiting cargo ship, illuminated only by a small quantity of work lights. Neither Sanchez nor anyone else looks the crate again as it is put into the cargo deck and subsequently covered by a hundred more identical crates. If Sanchez were to look closer at the small opening however, he would have seen the teeming mass of earthworms inside the crate, ready for their journey across the world's largest ocean to the world's largest continent. . . .

Los Angeles, California

Krishnan's plane lands at LAX International during the mid-afternoon, giving Krishnan plenty of time to rent a car and drive himself over to the LA office. As he walks out into the Arrivals section Krishnan notices a man in the crowd holding a sign with his name written on it, "Dr. V K Krishnan". Walking over to the man in business casual attire, Krishnan identifies himself and asks him name. "Jacobs", replies the man, producing a USDA ID from his button-up's breast pocket. "I'm here to take you to Mr. LaJoy. He's waiting at our office." Krishnan follows the man out to the street and to the car. The drive to the USDA LA office on 360 E 2nd Street takes thirty minutes through heavy Los Angeles rush-hour traffic. Once they reach the gleaming skyscrapers and concrete office towers of downtown LA, "Jacobs" drives into Little Tokyo and next to the local Federal building. Surrounded by one-story shops on South Central Ave, the USDA offices are housed in an adjacent ten-story glass and concrete tower. "Jacobs" leads Krishnan through the sliding doors and into one of the building's elevators.

After exiting on the third floor Krishnan and "Jacobs" are welcomed by a mayhem of USDA staff, clerks, secretaries, scientists, and others all engaged in two or more simultaneous activities. Shouting into phones, heated arguments over reports, shouting instructions to people across the room defines the atmosphere of the numerous cubicles scattered around the room. Leading him through the maze to the back of the second floor, Jacobs pushes open a door left barely open by the room's occupant. The room, surrounded by soundproof glass, offers the occupant a very tangible privacy for discussion if it is desired. Opening the door, Jacobs steps back motioning for Krishnan to enter. Inside the office two men are seated. The one sitting behind the desk is a tall, lanky, balding figure in his early sixties while the one sitting with his back turned to Krishnan is a shorter, stockier man of whom Krishnan only sees the large black fro of hair on his head. The tall, balding man stand up and introduced himself as "Peter LaJoy", while the second swivels his chair to reveal a swarthy, shorter fellow with moustache and a short goatee. "Mr. Krishnan, this is Dr. Gonzalo Rodriguez, a resident expert on earthworms from UC Berkeley", says LaJoy while pointing at the man with the Afro-styled hair. "Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Krishnan.", utters Rodriguez. Krishnan, wearing in smart casual, would never have guessed otherwise that this odd-looking character would have been a professor at Berkeley had not LaJoy told him so. "Now, that we've all been introduced, shall we get down to business?", inquires LaJoy, motioning for Krishnan to take a seat on one of the remaining three chairs.

Krishnan closes the door and sits down. "As you can see, we are just getting set up here. A major investigation has been launched and we have started cooperation with both the Dept. of Homeland Security and FEMA. We have just been discussing how important earthworms are to industries and business in southern California. Most importantly of all, to agriculture. As you know, California relies on agriculture as major component of the state's economy. Hundreds of millions of dollars in airborne exports, hundreds more counting rail and truck transport. California's central valley is basically a $40 billion dollar economy, and without the earthworms Dr. Rodriguez believes that we may see significant problems arise, and quickly." Rodriguez continues LaJoy's discussion. "As I have been explaining to Peter here, earthworms are an integral aspect of farming. We like to call them _ecosystem engineers_. They regulate soil processes such as structure, organic matter decomposition, nutrient cycling, plant growth, and so forth. While biological factors such as the type of vegetation or particular species of earthworms in an area affect the engineering efficiency of the earthworms, in agriculture it is abundantly clear that they are invaluable, to say the least."

"So what are we looking at here in California?" "Well, as I said, their engineering depends on things like vegetation, regional climate and soil type. Which is why I theorized that a microclimate change could be doing this to the worms, or a change in the soil composition. In the soil, the worm drops castings which create organic matter for plants to feed on, and the castings also absorb nutrients which are then taken by the plants. Their burrows in the soil allow better root penetration by plants, and they also increase microbial activity of microorganisms such as mycorrhizl fungi which promote plant growth. The burrows also creates macro and micropores throughout the soil, which lead to better water-holding capacity and aeration. All these activities are crucial to helping plants grow healthy and strong. Most agricultural plants are dependent on having good, fertile soil in which to grow- this means plenty of soil nutrients, water, and aeration. Soil richness can even be measured by the number of earthworms in it- good farmland can hold numbers up to eight hundred worms per square meter. There are millions of earthworms and hundreds of species in every acre of land."

Krishnan takes the cue. "So you're saying that soil quality in California is going to go down by a lot?. I mean, since soil richness is indicated by earthworms per hectare in a sense, we could be looking at a major bump to the agricultural sector, within, perhaps a matter of weeks?" "That may be the case, Doctor." "Rodriguez, if we were to lose all the earthworms in the central valley, what would that cost the economy?", asks LaJoy. Rodriguez takes a moment to think before responding. "hmm, the cost would be pretty big, to say the least. Earthworms decrease levels of plant pathogens and parasites in the soil. For example, soil lesions occur much less frequently where earthworms are abundant. Parasitic nematodes are reduced by microorganisms that are brought in or benefit from earthworms. Worms help denitrify the soil. When we fertilize agricultural soil we add huge quantities of artificial and natural nitrogen to the soil. Earthworms reduce that through their castings, but, with the worms out of the equation the nitrogen levels in the soil would certainly increase. It will take longer for the nitrogen to recycle back into the atmosphere."

LaJoy looks surprised. "That shouldn't be so bad, maybe our farmers will benefit by having to use less artificial fertilizers for their fields." "I don't think so, Peter. Excessive nitrogen levels can be as detrimental to crops and plants in general as too little nitrogen. Nitrogen over the optimum levels does not increase crop yield. In fact, excessive nitrogen causes toxicity in plants which could be passed to second-level consumers of that plant. It will also make the plants weak are more susceptible to disease, parasites, and possibly death. We should run Illinois soil-nitrogen tests to determine the levels of nitrogen in the central valley over the next several weeks."

"No benefits to the farmers at all.", states LaJoy. "and the worse part of it is this thing is spreading. Which is where you come in, Dr. Krishnan. We've already disproven Rodriguez's theory that the worms are being affected by microclimate or soil change. I seriously doubt it, but the theory of pathogenic transmission still has to be disproven. The guys at MalSanto seem to like it, but I want answers. Dr. Krishnan, everything that we have collected from around the state is waiting for you in our lab at UCLA. And our first official who witnessed this, Michael McCarthy from our Stockton office, should be arriving back here today." Krishnan nods. "That should be fine. I've never seen anything like this before though. In my career I've seen many large epidemics throughout Africa's interior, looked at the potential damage they could do. If you look at the history of epizootics, I don't remember anything that could cause earthworms to die in these numbers. Earthworms suppress plant diseases, not receive them." "So far, that's all we know, Dr. Krishnan. I wish I could say more, but. . . " Rodriguez trailed off. Krishnan stood, shook hands with Rodriguez and LaJoy and headed to UCLA. _This is going to be a long, and interesting, day. . ._

St. Louis

After six hours everyone at the MalSanto Headquarters from both the government and the biotechnology company reconvene in a large, non-descript meeting room on the second floor of the building housing the GroundupLab. Owing to its non-Arthurian round nature, the company's executives sit on one side of the conference table while the USDA and EPA representatives sit opposing them, giving an aura of some secret Cold War negotiations. Onassis, seated at the table's end and being the senior government official present, starts once everyone is present. "Our analysis by McCarthy, Jones, and La Cruz working with Dr. LoSchiavo's team clears the slate. No active or inactive ingredient in SuperPower Grounduphas been determined to be the cause of earthworm deaths, and no such ingredient is believed to be affecting the populations of earthworms in any way. Testing using control earthworm specimens in isolated environments seem to confirm this. I ask that Dr. LoSchiavo continue." Dr. LoSchiavo looks around the table; taking note of a the dozen pairs of eyes moving in her direction. "We have tested each substance individually on over a dozen earthworm species with no results. Not a single earthworm has died due to exposure to any of the compounds used in SuperPower. The control worms were also unharmed. La Cruz, Jones, and myself will continue to run the experiment for several days to account for temporal exposure, but we are nearly one hundred percent confident that SuperPower is not having any effect on any of the major dozen earthworm species, each individually tested." LoSchiavo pauses, looking at McCarthy, Jones, and La Cruz for acknowledgement, knowing that they have the sway of the USDA. All three nod slowly in Onassis' direction, giving their unspoken support to LoSchiavo's speech. McCarthy interjects, "I believe that the tests so far are conclusive- and that SuperPower isn't the cause of the earthworms dying out. We know for sure the effect isn't immediate. That's why I think La Cruz and Jones should stay for a few days and follow up with LoSchiavo and her Groundup research team. Otherwise, everything looks clear." Onassis blinks. "You are sure about this?" "Absolutely. In three days' time we should be one hundred percent certain. Every affected area in California had no more than three days between use of SuperPower and the symptoms setting in." Onassis nods. "That settles it then. I am heading back to Washington. Until I get that report three days from now, SuperPower stays off the market in recall. A weel from now it can head back to the market, if the tests are all negative. La Cruz and Jones will stay and continue to administer the tests." Jones and La Cruz nod in silence. Onassis stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. Walter shakes hands talking to Onassis, the rest of the boards members pack laptops and get up while McCarthy goes over testing details with La Cruz and Jones. "Do all of the experiments over again. Keep the temporal controls the way they are, have them monitored twenty-four-seven. And of course, update Onassis every several hours." La Cruz and Jones nod before walking off and mingling with the other executives.

In the midst of the farewells and business-related chitchat, McCarthy's cell phone rings, making him excuse himself and head outside. McCarthy is not surprised to see that its LaJoy again. "What is it now?" "We've got a case in Ensenada, Mexico. The local authorities contacted us after local farmers started experiencing the same cases as we have had in Bakersfield and LA." "Jesus, this is turning international. Do we even have jurisdiction to go over there?" "Their local government would be more than happy to have your team over there, McCarthy. In fact they are already going over there, along with Gonzalez." "You sent them ahead of me?"

"Hey I can't take you out under from Onassis' nose just like that. Your heading to San Diego." "Did you tell him about this yet?" "Not yet. Just keep me informed of what you find there." Click. _Damn. So much for home. Looks like San Diego it is._ McCarthy walks out of MalSanto headquarters to the sedans along with the rest of the USDA leadership. Not even catching a glance at the remaining formalities with MalSanto's execs, he just focuses on the implications of LaJoy's latest news. _Its spreading. . ._ _quickly_

UCLA

In UCLA microbiology and immunology laboratory, Krishnan finds himself working alongside several virology and annelid specialists from the university department. Complementing them are two people from the USDA. More are expected to arrive from universities across the country during the week.

Krishnan would have preferred to have the dead worm samples transported to his CBEID lab in Houston and analyzed there, where his team could perform like clockwork. Instead, he is forced to work with an entirely new group assigned by LaJoy. Krishnan sighs. Usually he would be more than happy to meet other biology professionals like himself and cooperate with research, but in this case they are unfamiliar with his quirks and specific way of doing things. Ultimately the procedures are the same, but merely take a bit longer to yield results.

Krishnan started by measuring blood chemical levels in the worm's digestive tract and traces of macrophages or any leukocyte activity. Earthworm immune systems use leukocyte receptors to identify self entities opposed to non-self entities. The receptors would then bind themselves to the surface of the xenobiotic or microbial intruder. The leukocytes would also release cell differentiation markets that would "mark" alien substances in the bloodstream for the macrophages, which would then attack and destroy the xenoforms. Phagocytosis occurs when the bind to NK receptor-clad cells and destroy them. Leukocytes, such a B-cells and T-cells, would work in conjunction to produce antibodies and natural killer cells. A worm's immune system is remarkably similar to a human's, the only major differences being the earthworms immune system was smaller in scale and more simplistic evolutionarily than a human beings.

Preparing slides under a large electron microscope, excitement courses through Krishnan as he anticipates what he would find. "Dr. Krishnan?" Krishnan turns to find an orange-haired young man with thick glasses looking at him. "We have found something that you might want to see." Walking over to another microscope, Krishnan sees another scientist with a nametag "Miyazaki", next to the microscope. The orange-haired one speaks first. "Dr. Krishnan, we have identified multiple T-cell receptors throughout the bloodstream in every sample so far. However, there is also a lack of lymphocytes and neutrophils. Lymphocyte count per million red cells is very low compared to the number of NK receptors in the bloodstream, which is really high. NK cells, T-cells, B-cells, macrophages all in very low quantities. Its like the earthworms have leukopenia or some other autosuppressive force is at work."

Krishnan seats himself and looks into the lens. Sure enough, the plasma and red blood cells in the image magnified 100,000x take up most of the screen. Miyazaki and "Orange" observe the visual image on the monitor adjacent to the microscope. A monocyte floats by surrounded by hundreds of red cells, round roughly doughnut shaped cells that carry oxygen around the bloodstream. In worms the oxygen is absorbed through surface skin respiration rather than through a nose, as in humans. This is why an earthworm dies if its skin dries up. Alveoli are scattered throughout the body in order to absorb the oxygen carried by the red cells. A cluster of neutrophils comes next, roundish white cells that conglomerate, forming pus. Neutrophils are designed to quickly reach infections and envelop bacteria and fungi through cytokinesis. They are usually 12 micrometers in diameter and ineffective against viruses. Krishnan notices that a large amount of receptors are intermingled with the neutrophils in the plasma and red cells mixture. Most unusual, however, is that the receptors haven't binded to anything. Receptors are supposed to be released by leukocytes and then bind to invading fungi and viruses. _If the receptors are floating around freely, why have they been released?_

A small bug-like apparition appears next on the screen, a diamond with 6 inverted legs pointing in one direction. Black against the background, the spider-like entity swims by the receptors without attracting any attention. Three more of the new apparitions appear behind it. _So this is a virus._ Krishnan immediately recognizes the alien like nature of the invader. _Why aren't the receptors binding to the viruses? Clearly the receptors have been released in response to the virus, but they aren't binding. Why?_ Turning away from the microscope, he turns to the two other biologists. "You know that we are now dealing with a virus, right? Have you identified the type yet? Do you know why the receptors aren't binding?!" "Not yet. That's why we called you. We are thinking the same thing. Totally unknown. Perplexing." "Perplexed?? I like that. Good choice of wording.", quips Krishnan sarcastically, "There has to be some emitted chemical, some anti-receptor in the virus that is preventing contact. Obviously the macrophages and the rest of the lymphocytes aren't going to attack the viruses without having the receptors binding first. Also, why is the macrophage count so low? Start working on this immediately and get everyone else to do this as well. I need to make a phone call", he responds authoritatively. "Right on it Doctor", responds "Orange" as he moves towards the computer while Miyazaki takes over the microscope. "Miyazaki, how many worms have we looked at so far?" "Over two hundred. We have a nearly limitless supply." "Funny. Has anyone looked at a cause of the transmission yet?" "No. We didn't even identify the virus until we looked through blood samples. Before that it was simple anatomization and chemical analysis." "Well then, try to get me something soon", he states impatiently.

Krishnan takes out his cell phone and dials LaJoy. "We've got a major problem. We've tested over two hundred worms so far, every single one of them has a virus. Its unidentified as of yet, but we're working on it. White cells counts are low, and for some reason the worm immune system doesn't identify the virus and attack it. I'm assuming that microbes are spreading the virus from worm to worm. Or it could be direct contact between worms, I don't know yet.", he admits. "So it is a worm epizootic. I've never heard of such a thing. MalSanto's going to love hearing this." "It doesn't matter how much they will love this or not, we better take precautions. Anyone working on the site should wear safety wear, goggles, gloves, at the very least. I suggest HAZMAT suites until we can be absolutely certain it doesn't harm humans. Have there been other cases?"

Without even hearing LaJoy's response, Krishnan knew the answer to his own questions. "Yes, we have some in Mexico." "Mexico? It really is spreading fast. Make sure all shipments of food are tightly controlled. Actually you should prevent food from going in and out of the country in general, at least from California. Take extra precautionary measures, quarantine exports involving agrarian produce. Do what you have to do." LaJoy's answer comes out flustered, as if he's not getting enough sleep. "We're already working on that, its just taking longer than expected. The Mexican government is not going to like this at all. Keep working on that virus, you're the best we've got." "I'll am, although I'd prefer if I get some of my people here from CBEID. They know their virology very well, although it's a bit human-oriented." "Anything you need. Keep in touch." LaJoy hangs up.

_Did LaJoy anticipate it spreading into Mexico? Probably not, he seems overwhelmed having to deal with an international crisis. Involving worms.. . ._ Krishnan ponders over the extent that the worm virus could cover given enough time. _Is this going to go around like an epidemic?_ But epidemics, like a flash flood, usually disappear quickly. Ebola, for instance, is so lethal it can kill within a matter of hours by basically draining the victim of their blood plasma, leading to hypovolemic shock. It is so deadly that the virus basically contains itself, by killing off all the hosts so quickly that it denies itself a method of transmission by depopulating the region of its origin. Thanks to its virulence, the ebola virus has only been documented in isolated pockets, usually villages in the African countryside and has not spread around the world.

_Why is this virus sustaining itself? Where did it originate from?_ Krishnan realizes that these crucial questions would be answered by results from the lab. He also knows the epicenter of the outbreak is in northern Los Angeles, and the first reported cases were in Bakersfield. Some USDA official by the name "McCarthy" had been there first and started doing soil and chemical analyses. That was standard procedure but led to a terrible delay in getting to the root of the problem, and unnecessarily associating MalSanto Co. with an emergency that they had nothing to do with. In the end, several days were wasted before they realized that a virus was killing the worms. _Thanks to slow bureaucracy. . ._ They had yet to determine whether it was a natural-occurrence, some new mutation, or a specifically designed bioweapon. _It certainly can't be a bioweapon though. A biological weapon would be killing people, not goats, not cattle. . . and definitely not worms. That should rule out the possibility of bioterrorism. But what about a natural occurence? Where would such a virulent and specialized virus originate from?_

Putting these distracting thoughts out of his head, Krishnan heads back into the lab. "Orange" is back, along with Miyazaki and thirteen others. "Hey people. I want to find out how this virus is sustaining itself, why the receptors aren't attracted to it, any related diseases that show similarities to this outbreak, specifically any that have affected annelids, and finally where it came from. We will be working in groups of three, each group assigned to their field of specialization. Once we find the answers to these questions, we will work on a way to get the NK receptors to bind to the virus. Let's split into teams." It takes ten minutes to get the annelid immunologists with their colleagues and the virologists with theirs, but soon everyone has a lab, equipment, and samples and gets to work. Krishnan dials his office in CBEID. Wang, his laboratory assistant, answers. "CBEID. Dr. Krishnan's office." "Wang! I need you to get Drs. Perkins, Jesse, DelRosario, Ventura, and yourself over to UCLA as quickly as possible. We have huge amounts of work to do." "Why what is it Doctor?" "It's this thing that the USDA wanted me for. They're dealing with a worm epizootic that we just learned about and we need research quickly. I need all of you here to start getting answers ASAP." "Perhaps it would be easier if you send the samples over here. It would be just as easy. And, if you feel that you need to use any of the equipment at CBEID instead of UCLA, we'll be here to use it." "That is a much better idea", answers Krishnan. _Why didn't I think of that? Too rushed._ "I'll make sure you have samples by today. Make sure everyone else is there and working on them. I'll send the documents telling you what I'm looking for. And I still may need you here soon." Krishnan hangs up the phone. CBEID will soon be devoting most of its best resources and personnel to decoding the worm epizootic mystery. The game was on.

Ensenada, Mexico

A turbulent flight over the Rocky Mountains from St. Louis to San Diego did not help to lighten the mood. However, being hungry as he usually was, McCarthy wolfed down the business class food that would usually seem barely eatable, relieving him of that craving for the time being. The Mexican authorities had picked him at a transfer point on the U.S.-Mexican border, now he was heading to the site in a jeep. The driver didn't speak English very well so McCarthy took the time to clear his head of the last three days events and meditate a little.

Ensenada comes into view a hour into the ride, a small coastal city catering primarily to tourism from southern California. _In fact_ , McCarthy reminds himself, _this entire region is known as "Baja California"_ , meaning Lower California. A large Mexican flag flutters in the breeze above the port city as McCarthy's car drives "over the hump" onto a higher portion of the highway leading into Ensenada. A large cruise ship sits in the harbor under the flag, dominating the landscape of the low-lying, spread city. "Are we going into the city? Where did you say the incident happened?", asks McCarthy, getting out of his semi-trance. "Not far, señor. We go to the Vista del Sol town. About ten minutes, no?" _Ten minutes isn't too bad. I'll shut up and wait it out._ Sure enough, eleven minutes later the pull up to a middle-class neighborhood full of Spanish-villa style homes. An area the size of four city blocks is cordoned off by police tape, leaving only about a dozen men in HAZMAT gear sifting through uprooted dirt and grass between the houses. McCarthy's driver pulls up to two police officers at the edge of the quarantined zone and says something in Spanish before turning to Mike. "Ok, señor. We can't go further, but I drop you off here, ok?" McCarthy gets out of the van, noticing a short tanned man with a moustache and goatee waiting for him next to the door. "Gonzalo Rodriguez", says the man extending his hand, "You must be McCarthy." "McCarthy, a pleasure. Wish it could be under better circumstances." McCarthy realizes that the man is not short, rather that he himself is rather tall for the region. _Hmm, not to mention blonder than the average_.

"I've been working with the USDA to explain to them what this situation means. We've already received another two dozen reports from Mexico alone since you were notified." "So LaJoy sent you here." "That's right." "Uh-huh. So what have we got here?", asks McCarthy taking a step towards the line. "Don't!" Rodriguez puts his arm in front of McCarthy's chest, stopping him in his tracks. "LaJoy just told us that it is being caused by a virus. Can't you see we're all protected?" "So that's why everyone is in HAZMAT gear." "Yes. You need to put it on. Then meet me in that trailer." Rodriguez points his finger to a parked laboratory trailer.

McCarthy goes into a makeshift tent erected alongside one of the homes, picking a HAZMAT suit and donning it over his business-casual suit. Making an effort not to cringe at his new clothing blend, McCarthy steps out of the tent and walks over to the trailer. Entering the trailer, he spots numerous bags containing worms and soil in the same fashion as his USDA van. As promised, Rodriguez is inside. "So McCarthy. You were the first one to see this phenomenon. Does this situation look identical?" McCarthy looks out the window, where he sees HAZMAT workers collecting small piles of dead earthworms on the sidewalk. "Yes. This is it. Mexico has the same problem we do. I don't get it though. We weren't using HAZMAT the first or second day." "Then you were exposed." "But we've felt no bad effects yet. Huh. You said we know that the worms are dying because of a virus?" "Yes. LaJoy has got some biologists, including Dr. Krishnan, working on it at UCLA." "Dr. Krishnan? I know that name." "He is one of the world's leading experts in virology and molecular biology, yes", replies Rodriguez on McCarthy's cue. "We need to recommend to LaJoy what steps to take to avoid this. You read my reports on their ecology, right? Do you know what this would mean for the environments of California and Baja?"

"This is going to be a disaster", replies McCarthy somberly. "You mentioned that agricultural productivity, which is pivotal to the economic base in California and here in Mexico, will be very hard hit. We need to make sure that this doesn't spread to other states or regions of Mexico, or else their farms will be in just as big jeopardy as the ones in the Central Valley. I'm thinking what we can do about this, other than find a cure." "I don't think that even a cure can prevent this. How would we reach every worm of every species out there and innoculate them with a cure? It would be an impossible task." "True. Wait- what about taking worms from other states, Wyoming, Mississippi, anywhere, and bringing them to California? We merely transplant them, even buy them since they're grown for fishing, and use them to replace the one now lost?" "An interesting idea. But how are we going to make sure that they also don't get the disease? Innoculate them all?" "Yes." Rodriguez leans back on the trailers' wall, turning the idea over in his head. "We should tell this plan to LaJoy. Maybe he'll like it." "If it's even possible." "We should always give it a try. Although, if it doesn't work, we'll have no choice but to wait it out and hope that the worms adapt and gain natural immunity to the virus. Though who knows how long that will take." "Alright. Let's put this in perspective, write it down, and send it to Los Angeles." McCarthy opens his laptop and starts typing. "Hey, we don't need that. Just call him." Rodriguez chuckles, breaking the sour mood. "LaJoy doesn't have much time on his hands, and neither do we. But he never seemed to be one that did." "Astute observation.", McCarthy smiles lopsidedly as he reaches for his phone.

05- A CAN OF WORMS

One week after his meeting with the Secretariat in New York Manjak found himself working long hours, as usual, late into the night. It was 7:48pm and he didn't expect to be out for another two. The last two hours he was trying to get support from the other agencies for two FAO aid workers kidnapped in Yemen. Dispersing food sometimes became a dicey situation, especially in areas where bands of bandits roamed about who thought of the food-bearing workers as invading infidels. People disappeared. Then it is up to Manjak to deal with the ensuing media blitz, the interrogation-style conferences, the accusing politicians, and the negative press coverage. Not to mention the actual work of trying either negotiate for their release or bring it about more forcefully.

In most cases the kidnappers would demand ransom, but to avoid larger and more lethal consequences the kidnapped would be released before the set expiration date. Manjak was hoping this would be another one of those cases, but just in case he wanted to have some sort of special forces team ready to extract his assessment workers if necessary. _Better to speak softly, and carry a big stick._ _Ironic that Roosevelts' words could be applied to situations like these_. In addition to the UN response, the home country's embassy of the kidnapped victims would also try to establish contact with the kidnappers to make terms. Which was usually a harder task that it sounded since the kidnappers would take their victims, and being in Yemen, would likely try to flee into the deep desert. There the FAO and foreign embassies would have to wait until the kidnappers got in contact with them, which was usually through means other than an easily-traceable cell phone. In this case, Yemen is dangerously close to Somalia, which despite years of attempted recovery and efforts by international navies to cleanse of pirates, drug runners, and insurgents is still one of the world's most notorious hotspots.

Manjak looks out at the hundreds of yellow and red lights denoting evening traffic passing along the Via di Caracalla's twin lanes. Since it is a Friday, that probably meant that his two kids would be out with their friends socializing at the movies or some nightclub. As long as they were back by 1 Manjak didn't have a problem with it. This rule, which he had made, also allowed him to work until ten without hurry. Sofia wasn't in Rome. She had gone to Mexico to investigate some new soil development that had occurred there. he wasn't sure what "new soil development" meant but the latest reports from the Mexican government hinted that soil had started to show signs of decay. _Some type of chemical spill they don't want anyone to know about?_ Manjak wondered. Governments often try to keep accidents and spills from being made public until the last minute, since they lose prestige both at home and abroad if they are seen as incapable of mitigating and controlling a problem.

Prestige is, in addition to being a concern for governments, a natural concern for Manjak as well. Getting the two aid workers back from Yemen within the week should help the FAO and the United Nations save some face, which is exactly what the kidnappers are looking to discard. If the FAO loses face to little, puny incidents like these then how will it be trusted to react in larger, more reactive, and more volatile situations? These are the consideration that Manjak must take into account as he threads his line so very carefully. _Bao has it easy._ _We appoint her, she takes control and responsibility for the organization. All the WFP does is rapid-response. Logistics is difficult and timing is crucial, but ultimately they don't have to deal with long term consequences. So far so good, though, since they've got a far better reputation than we do. Kudos to Bao._ Manjak knows that despite the WFPs job is more difficult than he gives Bao credit for. Oftentimes the logistics of getting to food to the recipients is very hard and demanding; while donations and financial aid is oftentimes a rarer delicacy.

Manjak's phone rings. As it is past 7:00pm Maria is not there to answer for him, prompting him to answer it himself. "Manjak, Deputy Director FAO speaking." It doesn't take long to recognize the all-too familiar voice on the other side of the phone line. "Trip! I knew you'd still be up there. Where are the kids?" "They're out, honey. You know, as long as they're back by one." "They'd better be back by one. They're not even eighteen yet." "Listen, honey, we've done this drill a thousand times. They know how to handle themselves." "I know, its just. . . ". A pause. Sofia sighs over the line, before continuing. "How long are you going to be there?" "At least til 9:30, you heard about that thing in Yemen haven't you? I'm here trying to coordinate a rescue for the poor pickles who happened to fall into the apple cider." "You mean fly in the venus fly-trap." laughs Sofia. "Whatever." Sometimes only the two of them understood their inside jokes, but the venus fly-trap was an old, and intimate, one. "You're calling me at this time to talk about botany?" Laughs. "Specifically, botany in Mexico?" Sofia's light laugh over the line instantly breaks off. "That's what I wanted to tell you, Trip. The botany in Mexico. This isn't a joke." Trip recognizes her voice-over into business-mode, even over the line. He checks his watch, realizing that its only 11am across the Atlantic on the Mexican western coast right now. "Serious? So this is about the soil changes, environmental disaster or whatever that's happening in what, Baja California? Where are you right now?" "I'm in Ensenada. This started about six days ago, but its already spread throughout all of Baja and even Caborca and Hermosilla south of Arizona. I don't know how long the government can keep it quiet and continue with the ludicrous story of an oil pipeline spill." "They're saying its an oil spill?" "Actually, natural gas. It's a natural gas pipeline from Hermosilla to Naco. That's not the point. Another rumor amongst the officials here is that its some sort of run-off herbicide from the US. They say it originated in California, and that somehow the run-off from the herbicide is affecting the environment." "Affecting the environment? What do you mean by that?" Trip wondered why Sofia was beating around the bush. "Its killing the earthworms, Trip. Its killing the earthworms." The last words coming from Sofia's mouth as a silent curse. "Killing the earthworms? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!! Just earthworms or everything it comes into contact with? How's it spreading?" Trip almost yells the last line into the phone as excitement, awe, and a weird feeling in his stomach creep into his voice. "No. I don't understand how either, yet. But whatever the cause the earthworms are dying, every single species, and the phenomenon is spreading. We also know that California has the same problem. The US authorities are referring to it as a 'worm epizootic'".

"Worm epizootic that is ridiculous?!!", Manjak slumps back in his chair, completely taken aback by the mind-wracking news.

Never in his life, let alone his career, had he thought to come face-to-face with as odd a phenomenon as the one his wife had just described to him over the phone. If it wasn't for her tone of voice with which he was so familiar with, he would have thought of the entire conversation as one giant prank played on him. Quickly composing from the aftershock, Manjak realizes he needs details. "How are the Mexicans taking this?" "Their story won't hold, but they're going to have to admit it's a cross-border problem from a herbicide or some environmental contaminant. The place is rather arid here in the north, but since it is spreading it could harm the southern regions of the country if it gets that far. That would be catastrophic to the tropical forests that rely on the rich soil layer to support their wildlife. And of course here in Hermosilla their pacific coastline is also quite green." "That sounds pretty bad.", Manjak thinks for a minute. "You said it started in northern, American California. Has it spread into the central valley, there's like a billion dollars worth of agriculture in that area?" "Yes, they're saying that it was first recorded in that area over a week ago. Then it spread down to here. The US authorities, EPA, USDA, they've all put quarantine measures to prevent cargo from going in and out in California. Mostly agricultural, dairy, any type of biological products. But that didn't stop it from coming into Mexico. And the authorities here are having more problems with the quarantine that in the US, although they're diverting army units and so forth." "They're putting the army to enforce quarantine?! Wow. I thought they would already have their hands full with the drug lords." "That's why its becoming more complicated. How much of an impact will this have on their local ecosystems?" ,asks Sofia.

"It's not so much their ecosystems as their farms." Manjak started wondering how well farmers in California would do if suddenly asked to grow crops without the help of their favorite wildlife pets. "What happens if the farms don't get their soil recycled as they should? Food quality will go down, per hectare production might decrease? Who knows? Have you spoken with a wormologist?" "Not yet. Representing the FAO I kind of get a back-seat to events. The state agencies have priority, mostly trying to contain the situation. Although there is a well-known worm specialist working with the USDA, though. Yes; his name is Gonzalo Rodriguez, from UCLA." Manjak taps his desk with his fingers as he reaches for a pencil and paper. "Gonzalo Rodriguez? I need to get in touch with this guy." "Sure, I think you should too." Sofia takes a deep breath. "You're taking this fairly well. Most people were shocked first time they heard it. I know I was." "Trust me honey, deep down I'm doing hola-hoops. Just stay safe, if any trouble happens. I don't think we've ever encountered a problem like this."

"Come on Trip, you really think this is _that_ bad? We are working to contain it, you know. It's only a few small cities." Trip answers. "Sofie, a few small cities? We're talking about LA here. And Guadalajara, Phoenix, aren't that far off. If you don't stop it now, we could be seeing it hit those cities in a week, at the rate you said its spreading. Yeah, I think this could be worse than it looks now."

"Ok. I'll be careful, but so far nothing other than a re-diversion of the army has occurred here. Kisses." "Kisses". _Buzzzzz._ The phone hangs up, leaving Manjak to sort through the underlying messages of the conversation. Manjak, being one who is accustomed to planning agricultural strategies that span for two, five, or twenty years immediately starts making up various scenarios in his head, some of them bad and some worse. _Ok, so what happens if all of North America gets inflicted with this thing, somehow? Oh God, what happens if their agricultural output, including that of California, the Midwest, the Breadbasket states, gets cut in half within six months? They're going to be screaming for outside food until they find a way to find a way to increase agricultural output relying less on the soil and more on the qualities of the plants themselves. More arable land taken, more modified crops used. And possibly months or even a year of food shortage. Damn._

Manjak spends the rest of the evening working on the Yemeni hostage problem, even though he knows he kept thinking about everything that Sofia had told him. Realizing that the problem in the Americas might soon _-will soon!-_ require his full attention and possibly many night hours, Trip Manjak decides to retire at 9:25pm. He exits the mostly-vacant headquarters and makes his way to the subway station along Rome's crowded streets. Heading home to his apartment on the Rome metro he decides to drop by the supermarket to buy food. Like many venues in Rome on a Friday night, the supermarket is open. Going in through the sliding doors Manjak walks straight to the canned food aisle and makes sure that he buys a large amount.

Ensenada, Mexico

A week after McCarthy's arrival in Mexico he finds himself still stuck in Ensenada, in the middle of a growing ecological problem, increasingly somber and alarmed population, and a full scale state-wide alert. In the last seven days a flood of reports by the biologists and other scientists gathered in Ensenada told the authorities in the State of Baja California that they were no longer the only ones to experience worm shortages. Police, businessmen, local residents, drug dealers, and many others in the neighboring states of Baja California Sur to the south; Sonora and Chihuahua to the east, and Sinaloa to the southeast all reported to their local governments the now-common problem of earthworm deaths. The local governments had no clue what to do and subsequently contacted the Federal government in Mexico City, a move supported by McCarthy, Rodriguez, and even the UN Representative Sofia Flores Manjak. Authorities in Baja California had managed to keep McCarthy and Rodriguez from leaving their state, stating that the evidence of contamination in the other states was irrefutable based on McCarthy's and Rodriguez's reports from Los Angeles.

Authorities from the Federal District would arrive soon in Ensenada to talk to the gathered scientists to ask them for advice in dealing with the situation. McCarthy advocated a very simple strategy- he told them to quarantine all areas afflicted with the worm contagion and have no movement of goods, people, or any objects between the outside world and the affected areas. That strategy, despite the presence of police and paramilitary police, did not work out. Now the local governments had no clue what to do, but were aware of the increasing sense of insecurity amongst the local population, especially in Ensenada where the outbreak was first detected a week ago. Here it was obvious the worm deaths were serious, living worms were a rarity in the soil at this point, and thousands of dead ones are scattered in parks, alongside gardens, roads, and surrounding forests. The government continued to run with the "environmental hazard contamination" storyline, leading McCarthy amongst others to wonder how long they were going to keep the cover. _They'll keep it as long as the US keeps saying that its a herbicide and not a virus_.

McCarthy is left in a trailer by the site of the original contamination scene, working alongside two GIS specialists putting together every reported outbreak onto a Geographic Information System. Having worked with GIS before, and having nothing else to do at the moment, McCarthy busies himself helping plot the extent of the worm epizootic onto a detailed two-dimensional map of Mexico. The ARCGIS system can show details ranging from rivers and interstate political borders to more obscure facts such as street names and forest type. Different types of soils and terrain are shaded in different colors to give the viewer information about the worms' environment. The two GIS technicians busy themselves imputing shades of red over areas affected by the epizootic. McCarthy notices the bright red patches over Ensenada, Tijuana, Mexicali, and other major cities of the Northwest. The bright red covers all the area in-between and surrounding the cities, only dissipating to lighter shades around Ciudad Obregon in before disappearing completely a hundred miles from Mazatlan on the Western coastline.

McCarthy opens the trailer door, heading outside for a breath of fresh air. He walks from the camp of several trailers and vehicles to the sidewalks, walking past small Spanish townhouses along Ensenada's narrow street lined by three-story row houses.

Coming along a park after passing a pair of police officers, McCarthy's vision of fresh air is abruptly transformed into a nightmarish sensation of pungent decay. The corpses of dead worms shoveled into heaps in the dirt along the side of the small park creates an aroma typical of putrified flesh. The authorities, not knowing what to do with the worms coming out of their burrows, ordered city workers to shovel them into piles away from pedestrian traffic. This left piles up to a foot high of worms in some areas, slowly decomposing while releasing a petrifying odor to passerby. The cleanup crews, hastily put together in response by the city, had piled the worms into heaps off the roads and then left them there. They were supposed to be removed, but that still yet to be done. Deciding that the air had rapidly lost its appeal, McCarthy turned away from the park, continued along a few more roads, and made a turn back towards the camp trailers. _We need to tell them to remove these decaying critters quickly, and get rid of them in a proper area._

McCarthy enters a local store to grab a bite before returning to the GIS lab. After ordering a sandwich he waits for it to be heated, he spots a stand with a local newspaper by the door and walks over to take a copy. Picking up the newspaper to scan it, the _ding-dong_ of the door chime next to him prompts McCarthy to look up from the day's headlines. Rodriguez's face leers back at him, a knowing smile painted across his face. "So, McCarthy, now you can read _en Español_? You never told me, why am I always translating every time we come to a government meeting?" Rodriguez asks humorously. "Did you really need to know? It was great having a free translator tag along all the time. Don't you agree?", asks McCarthy rhetorically. "You here for a lunch as well?" "Yes". "Good. What news is there from Mexico? Anything from LA?" "Nothing yet. How is the GIS updating going?" "Good. Its going fine. By the way, did you tell the Mayor that the cleanup here isn't complete? They still have worms lying around in piles, which stink. Not to mention this is a safety hazard having that compost rot in plain sight." Rodriguez pauses for a moment. "I did tell them to clean up. They've- for that matter, _we've_ also been helping them to clean up when they burrow out of the ground. They should know keeping them outside is an invite to carrion birds, stray animals, and the like. Not to mention being unpleasant." "We should tell them again, and stress it this time. The worms can't simply be left outside, regardless if they are out of the way". "You know, there are other detritivores around that could decompose them. Too bad that will take a really long time, by which we will probably be dealing with a human-affecting affliction in addition to an earthworm one." "Exactly my point. Hey, where's his sandwich?", McCarthy looks around as the two cashiers prepare Rodriguez's lunch. "You won't get any attention that way", remarks Rodriguez as he forwards his cash to the cashier. The two men take their sandwiches outside and sit down on the store's cafe-style outdoor chairs.

McCarthy takes a big bite out of his turkey-lettuce-tomato taco-like sandwich before remarking, "Its been almost ten days since we got our first call, and so far we have barely gotten any leads to its origins. At this rate, the epizootic will probably reach New York before we get any clues to its history. Have you ever encountered anything like this before?"

"Never.", Rodriguez replies, "This is something entirely new, never seen before. It is not parasitic, none of the worms we have seen have show symptoms of mites, fungi, any type of parasite. I've never ever heard, read, or seen a virus that attacks worms so quickly and so fatally. Total devastation, as I have said before. As I see it, the only thing we can do now is quarantine, hope that this slows down the spread, and pray that Dr. Krishnan and everyone else LaJoy has working in the lab can find some an aerosol-based antidote quickly enough. Although, there is something else that should be factored in, which I have already told LaJoy." "What is that?", asks McCarthy. "Well", starts Rodriguez, "this virus attacking the worms seems to be similar to something like Ebola or Tuberculosis in terms of its potency and rate of spread. I'm counting on this epizootic spreading to areas, such as the Chihuahuan desert, where the natural worm population is very low. Relatively speaking, the amount of earthworms per square meter can range from 1 to 10,000. You follow?" "If I were to guess, you advised the government to quarantine sporadically until the epizootic reaches the desert. Now you're assuming that, due to its own extremely virulent nature, this epizootic will kill itself when it kills off the earthworm population too quickly to continue sustaining itself". "Yes. Some deep deserts have less than 1 earthworm per square meter, if they all die quickly enough there won't be much of a population left to sustain the virus. The virus, without a living host population present to continue sustaining it, should quickly die off".

"That's basically how we've managed to avoid having Ebola outbreaks. I don't know if you remember, but I remember reading about several outbreaks in 2007 in Congo. Of course, quarantine measures were also used to make sure it didn't spread.", muses McCarthy, "you already proposed this plan to LaJoy?" "Yes I did", replies the field biologist, "him first, and then the authorities in Mexico City. They probably know that they have way too many stresses right now to be dealing with this crisis, they seemed very much willing to sit this one out and let it abate. While they have enough biologists, environmentalists, and troops to enforce a quarantine zone right now, they hardly have adequate scientific, intellectual, or financial resources to start looking for ways to combat this thing. At least not right now." McCarthy agrees, "They'll never say it, but I'm sure they'll take your idea to heart, put up a quarantine based adjacent to the desert cities and wait it out, maybe another week or two at the most. If it works it works. If it doesn't work, they're hoping we develop a working response in that time." "You could say that's that". Rodriguez finishes lunch, cleaning up his plate and napkin and disposing of them in the trash bin. "You ready to go?" "Sure. I need to get back to those maps". The two men leave the cafe, walking at a fast pace back to the trailer camp set up by the city of Ensenada.

"When do you think the maps will be ready?" ,asks Rodriguez as they walk uphill. "Should be ready in about another three hours. Then we'll hand them over to the Feds in Mexico and it'll probably be posted on their website within an hour." "Hopefully people will start getting the picture." "Yeah. No movement of worms, no soil movement, no fed of any kind. People still think its an accident, so that should keep them cooperating." "So we hope" ,replies Gonzalo. After a short walk uphill the two walk another three hundred meters across three streets before arriving at the scientists' and diplomats' temporary refuge.

LA, USDA Office

At the USDA headquarters on the West Coast, LaJoy, recently promoted thanks to the last two weeks events, hurries over to his desk after hearing his phone ring for the hundredth time that day. Stressed out, tired of hearing contradictory reports from across the state, sick of coffee after being a addict for twenty years, and in need of a vacation after the past week, LaJoy is not in the mood for more phone calls. Having spoken to the governor of California, the LAPD, and even wildlife experts and ecologists at the San Diego zoo in the past 24 hours, LaJoy briefly considers putting the call on hold and getting back to the caller later. However, the screen above the phone reads "Secretary of Agriculture", precluding any attempts of ignoring the phone call and claiming ignorance later. LaJoy picks up the receiver and identifies himself yet again.

"Onassis here. I think the situation warrants FEMA's attention. This is beyond our ability to control. I've advised Homeland Security to get FEMA mobilized and head over there with everything they've got." "We will need the Governor's permission for FEMA to enter the state. Have you spoken to him?"

"Yesterday evening. I think you should explain the situation, and tell him that I personally recommend we need to take this to a higher level. Remind him that we are already handling many aspects of the investigation and have started immunology research on our own in concurrence with UCLA and CBEID labs." "Yes, sir. What if he doesn't want FEMA here in his state, and does not want to declare a state of emergency?" "Try to convince him as best you can. He's seen as much of the evidence as we have. Considering that the outbreak has spread to Nevada and Arizona as well, I figure it is only a matter of time before other states start to declare emergency states as well. We need to cut this out now. FEMA will bring in extra communications equipment, computers, satellite uplink to all of our teams combing the countryside right now." LaJoy thinks it through, glad that FEMA could be involved but starting to question the necessity of advising the governor to involve them. _FEMA is made for emergencies like hurricanes, flooding, and earthquakes, not Cretaceous-era extinctions._ "Sir, I assume FEMA will also be bringing in their Emergency Medical Response Teams; even if they are trained to aid human victims of biological and chemical agents. So far we have no human victims, only invertebrates." "True LaJoy, but I don't want to take any chances. If this can affect humans, FEMA can help keep people away from infected areas." "I see, sir. How are the Mexicans dealing with this?", asks Peter offhandedly. "They are doing worse than we are, that's all I know at the moment. Talk to the Governor for me, will you?" "Very well." "Good. Keep in touch." Onassis's line cuts off, leaving LaJoy to phone the Governor of California for the eleventh time that week. The buzzing produced by the waiting machine quickly dies off after several electronic clicks, bringing LaJoy's line directly to the Governor's office without phone-line hassling. This privilege, naturally, only began a week ago.

The other side picks up. "Morning sir, its LaJoy from USDA LA again. I've been in contact with USDA in Washington, reviewing the situation as it develops and updating your office. It is the recommendation of the USDA that we declare a state of emergency at this point, sir. This way we can get FEMA assistance, and be able to deal with other problems as well more efficiently." "State of Emergency? LaJoy, I know you are doing your job well so far but is this your idea of a joke? I see no reason for me to declare a state of emergency. There is no natural disaster, no rioting, no real emergency for me to deal with. If I do this, people will become fearful, start to panic; if for no other reason than there is a state of emergency. Then I will have to explain why we have one, which will be thrashed by the legislature. . . this is ticklish business that I think, we have no reason for executing." "True, sir, but FEMA has resources that we don't. Federal funds, Emergency Medical Teams to deal with human victims -" "Human victims? I remember you specifically telling me that the virus you have identified only harms worms? Now you're saying that this is transmissible to humans?!" "No, sir. Well, not exactly. Dr. Krishnan and his team are fairly confident that this is a very specific virus that we're dealing with- unless a random mutation would occur, allowing it to be zoonotic- transmissible from animals to humans." "You should have told me this before. But you said that this is very, very unlikely. Under these circumstances, only the invertebrates are dying. As long as people, citizens of this state are not involved, I'm not declaring any emergency. This is merely an inconvenient long-term problem, one that your scientists should find a solution to given enough time. Don't ask me to make a state of emergency; . . . the people of California don't need one right now." "But when we start having effects of soil degradation. . . –" "When that happens, I'll make a note of it.", snaps the Governor back, "Make sure that quarantine zone of yours sees to it that this doesn't spread, and that some way of stopping this virus is found soon." "We're doing our best" "Great. Keep me posted then." With that, the Governor hangs up, leaving LaJoy to think through the short conversation. _He really needs to change his mind, we'll need FEMA here sooner or later and I'd rather have them here sooner._ LaJoy realizes that, despite seriousness of the situation to an environmental expert, the Governor as a politician may not see the longer term implications. _He expects a quick fix, and ability to maintain political normalcy without sacrificing expediency._ LaJoy decides to call Secretary Onassis back and tell him that for now, California will continue to run in a "state of normalcy".

Washington, DC

Onassis' office in the Department of Agriculture headquarters occupies the fifth floor, giving him a clear view to a sea of nationally important museums, in particular the Smithsonian, the Air and Space Museum, and the Museum of American History. While nowhere near being the most perky of lofty office in town, its relative height in a city of relatively horizontal construction affords Onassis a sense of being on top of things. For Onassis, this helps bring a clear head when complicated situations arise, which are usually rare.

The last ten days have made Onassis rethink his entire view of the world. Never has there been such a strange and unknown occurrence in agriculture in his entire career. The last week has brought something entirely new to the Department's attention, something that never existed before, something that no one imagined could exist. Now, with the entire department abuzz with whisperings, rumors, and frantic activity trying to make sense of the latest news streaming in from the West coast, it was up to Onassis to show that the department could react to unexpected situations like this in addition to managing farming countrywide year-to-year.

On the seventh day, though, he realized that the department wasn't designed to combat as pestilential an occurrence as the one that has shown up. In the last seven days they had refuted McCarthy's early hypothesis of artificial herbicides killing the earthworms, debunked suggestions that changes in the microclimate of the soil was the cause, and totally dismissed any possibility that oils spills or other chemicals had been the cause. Then, Dr. Krishnan had identified the biological nature of the threat- a previously unidentified virus present in every single one of the dead earthworms. Krishnan had deduced and reported to Onassis his theory that the virus had been single-handedly responsible for killing millions of the creatures, stunning several west coast states into silent perplexity, and inducing a condition of uncertainty on California's farmers. Onassis had reported this to the President, who entrusted Onassis with controlling and containing the unusual outbreak. Onassis wasn't sure what would be the next stage, but he was sure that it couldn't be good. _Which is why we should involve FEMA. We still don't know if this thing is transmissible to people in the long run_. Onassis sighs, weighing his options. FEMA could bring in counter-biological threat agents that are trained to prevent the spread of diseases. Contrary to popular opinion, FEMA does much more than merely hurricane and flooding relief, most of which is now seen in bad light as a result of the hurricane Katrina mangling. The agency is also designed to deal with both natural and man-made biological disasters, an ability that Onassis believes the situation warrants. _Too bad, really, that the Governor doesn't want to declare a state of emergency. Mr. All-is-normal will wait until the situation worsens_ , thinks Onassis silently. _Curses_. _What other choices do we have?_

With the FEMA option out, Onassis realizes he is relying more on the CBIED-UC team that he placed together rapidly to give him the answers he is looking for. Ranking his priorities, Onassis explicitly told Krishnan that he wanted to know _precisely_ where the virus came from. After that, he wanted a cure, a solution, an aerosol mitigation; anything that could stop the malignant viral process from continuing.

_Where can I get more scientists from? I need the best, and I need them now!_ Onassis had already spoken with over two dozen university presidents in a hasty effort to acquire immunologists, ecologists, and wormologists for the USDA's investigative effort. Onassis knows that Krishnan has very capable scientists from CBEID, but still believes that any more help is better than no more help. _I need some guys who are skilled in counter-biological spread. FEMA is out of the question right now. . .hmmmm_. Suddenly an idea hits him. Onassis dials one of his Secretarial colleagues.

"Welcome to the Secretary of Defense's office. If you would like to leave a message, Press 1-", Onassis jabs the six, bringing him in direct contact with the Secretary's head secretary. "This is Onassis, from the Department of Agriculture. I need to speak to Henry". "One moment please", is the reply. Over the phone, Onassis overhears the man ask "who? Agriculture? What for? Let me see. . ." Beep. "Yes? This is Henry Bates. Onassis? What do you want, I'm busy?!", the other man's gruff voice booms over the phone line. "Henry, good to hear you're doing so well. I have a situation and I may need some of your people to help fix it.", states Onassis smoothly. "Really?", replies Bates at the other end of the line, "I can't imagine any situation where we may actually have to join forces. Now I'm curious, what is it?" "Well. In case you haven't been paying attention to the news, there is a large environmental disaster going on right now on the west coast. It could be-" "terrorism? Intelligence should have found out earlier. .-" "It's not that. Well, I don't know for sure yet, but I doubt it. It is a biological agent, though, viral, and its spreading really fast." "Sounds like bioterrorism to me. You should have notified me earlier." "We _don't_ know what it is. We could use your counter-biowarfare guys to help us investigate the case and find a solution. You have specialized teams for this business, right?" "Of course. I could have our AMRIID division ready to assist you in less than twenty-four hours. Where is this outbreak?" "California. My team is based in Los Angeles. Yes, that would be a great help." "I'll see to it personally that they arrive in Los Angeles quickly. They know their jobs; your outbreak should be quickly taken care of. I'll inform the President." "Thanks, Henry", answers Onassis. Bates ends the conversation by switching off the line.

_Well, that's that. Now we have the Army to help us. Maybe their guys know something about infectious diseases that we don't. Hmm, I doubt that though._ Content that CBEID and the University of California will now have AMRIID to work alongside them, Onassis decides on his next course of action. Figuring it is the right time to coordinate a joint quarantine effort with Canada before the worm infection spreads there as well, Onassis picks up the phone to call his counterpart in Ottawa.

Shanghai, People's Republic of China

The world's largest shipping port is located in the Yangtze River Delta on the eastern coast of the People's Republic of China. Huge quantities of cargo traffic is processed daily through the ports thirty four state-of-the-art container ports, including exports heading both East and West as well as imports arriving from Europe, Africa, and the Americas. In the hustle and bustle generated by dozens of ships, hundreds of dockworkers and thousands of multicolored containers, the presence of one addition ship attracts little notice or attention from anyone. This particular ship, however, is carrying merchandise from the McGreenery Corporation- an assortment of horticulture and foodstuffs. Due to China's increasing demand for more food and better quality food in the last decade, the country has resorted to importing food in order to support local food production, which is not enough to meet demand. Certain items that are harder to find in China are especially important to import.

Thus, items such as oil seeds, fruits, pulp, and organic chemicals find themselves high on the list of items coming over from the New World. Amongst the McGreenery Corporation's products include seeds of various kinds, olives, and olive oils. The dockworkers use heavy machinery to load the shipboard containers from the vessel onto waiting railway cars. The railway cars will then take the items to a massive distribution facility where smaller crates will be places into trucks to be shipped to their respective destination cities. The olives in question will head to cities as wide flung as Nanjing, Xi'an, and Tianjin. There they will be taken by individual companies who will sell the products to local restaurants, businesses, markets, and residents.

The small detail that slipped passed the dockyard supervisor in Los Angeles, however, has also made it through the stormy waters of the north Pacific. A few earthworm corpses of the genus _Lumbricus_ have survived the high waves and salty sea to land in the People's Republic. Despite a lack of passports on their behalf, their presence goes unnoticed by the dockworkers who do not open this particular container, passing it off with a cursory glance. The little critters continue their global journey to the world's latest Asian super tiger, bringing with them an unwarranted gift that has already left a shock in the land from which it came from.

A train rolls out from the dockyard. A few minutes later, it arrives at the distribution center. The containers are taken from the train by heavy cranes and placed in rows. Soon they are placed onto individual tractor-trailers to begin their trek across the expanses of China.

UCLA, LA

Twenty-four hours of non-stop test running. Twenty four hours of non-stop work at full throttle, in any occupation, is enough to make anyone cringe and pray for relief. When that work is done in a laboratory where every minute detail must be recorded, retested, and remembered in order to compare to future tests, then the work becomes quite difficult. Focus and attention to detail are critical qualities called for in every step of every experiment.

To add insult to injury, the last twenty four hours have not come up with anything conclusive. Even with nearly the entire group of professors and scientists from CBEID here in California, it was nearly impossible to get any useful results. No results in general made for a bad day.

Dr. Krishnan got only four hours of sleep last night, only half the quantity a healthy human being should be getting a night. Krishnan knows that this bad pattern will eventually impact on his ability to work, as well as organize and lead the team. He walks into his makeshift office after spending another five hours in the University lab.

The only good news of the day came in at 11:45 at night yesterday- when Konovalov had called and told Krishnan that he would fly in from Texas within a day. He didn't even ask for compensation or anything, simply bought a ticket and decided to head over to Los Angeles. Of course, considering that he ran his own company and likely had secret bank accounts to say the least, Krishnan almost expected Konovalov to do this sort of thing. Many at UCLA should be at least somewhat happy that they would soon be getting one of the world's most renowned geneticists by their side.

Slumping down into his chair, Krishnan starts rereading yesterday's progress report. It details the long and intricate story of Wang and Miyazaki's work in attempting to splice the earthworm's genome. Krishnan reads over how they used the Maniatis procedure to extract and isolate the RNA and DNA sequences. The liquid-liquid extraction method uses phenol and chloroform to form an aqueous upper phase and an organic lower phase. The worm's DNA ends up in the aqueous phase due to the absence of the protein-denaturizing Guadinium Thiocyanate, while the RNA also ends up in the aqueous phase regardless of the Guadinium presence. The RNA is then extracted using either 2-propanol or ethanol.

After isolating the DNA from the RNA, Wang and Miyazaki proceeded to identify the specific genome strands responsible for immune control and immunodeficiency. More importantly, Krishnan instructed them to identify the genomes that may have been damaged due to the EWK-1 retrovirus. Earthworm DNA has been known to be damaged as a result of exposure to harmful environmental chemicals such as hexachlorobenzene and polychlorinated biphenyls. Most often, concentrations of such chemicals tend to be found around industrial sites. Earthworm DNA is spread over 7,000 different, distinct species, grouped into 23 different families. The garden, or "common" earthworm, is itself in reality five different and very distinct species. Nonetheless, all earthworms share approximately 99.5% of the double helix between themselves. Many people find it surprising that earthworms share up to 98% of their DNA with humans.

The report goes on to list the AGTC strands that were damaged and several non-functioning receptors in the DNA strands of the Komakodinae family. However, the Megascolicadae family, also common in North America, did not have the non-functioning receptors; only the AGTC damage was identical. Krishnan paused, flirting with the thought over and over in his head. _Each species is affected in slightly different manner- yet all the species are dying out. All? Perhaps there is one amongst the 7,000 that is not. And if it is, we have to find it._

The uplifting pattern of thought is interrupted by a knock on the door. Krishnan looks up to see two people who seemed to be in their thirties standing at the door. The first is a thin and attractive brunette with a pair of black glasses and high heels, while the man standing next to her was a slightly chubby yet tallish blond. "Sorry to be interrupting", said the brunette entering the room, "But we were told by Dr. McCarthy that we should be here. Dr. Krishnan, I presume? Laurie Weisman". She walked over and extended her hand. Krishnan takes her hand, introducing himself "Yes, Dr. Krishnan." A slightly firmer handshake for the man, who introduces himself as, "Mark McGregor, pleased to meet you." "So what can I do for you two today?", asks Krishnan, trying to figure out where to fit these two newcomers in everything. "I'm sure you aware, but we're quite busy over here." "We're here to help", answers Laurie, "Mike told us to be here. Apparently all of our jobs are shifting thanks to this worm thing". "I see. I'd should see your resumes at least, before we begin." "Sure", answers Laurie as she pulls out several papers out of a folder she had brought along. Krishnan sits back down and puts on his reading glasses to take a look.

"Ph.D, Molecular physiology. Hmm, that could help. PhD, soil ecology. Perhaps you can tell the USDA how we will be affected by all this." Krishnan looks up at Laurie. "You both have excellent resumes. Mark, I could use your help in dissection. Unfortunately, soil ecology isn't really my specialty. I don't really know where to put you right now. But you are welcome to stay." Laurie eyes flicker a little downcast, but quickly resume their abundantly energy. "The state government could always use an expert, I guess." "Sure. Ask them. As for you Mark, go over to Lab 207 where we have all the species. We have work to do, so get busy." "Sure thing, boss", answers Mark. "Boss? you used this at your old job?", asks Krishnan rhetorically, "I must say, I like it!"

The two newcomers shuffle themselves out of the room, leaving Krishnan back to his quiet, meditative peace. Which doesn't last long as the phone interrupts the sea of tranquility. "Dr. Krishnan speaking. Yes?" "It's Onassis. There have been some slight operational changes, but they should work to your benefit." "As long as we get the right people, and the right equipment, I'm sure we can find a solution, sir. What type of operational changes are involved?" "AMRIID, the operational immunological research and development arm of the military, will now be working in conjunction with your personnel."

"Sure, sir, but who will be in charge of the everyone? What facilities will we be allowed to use?" "That's where the complications are. You are in charge of the civilian team. Several liaisons will be sent to LA to assist you, but your team will not have access to their military labs". "I have very high level clearance for NBACC, sir." "I know that, Dr. Krishnan; I've seen your file. Nonetheless, many of the scientists and professors working with you do not have your level of clearance. So, you will have to forward NBACC any details that you have, an new information that you gather, any experiments you would want them to run, so forth. In fact it is urgent that you send them all available information so their scientists can start to analyze it immediately." Krishnan pauses to think it over. Fine, so now the military is involved. An environmental disaster of this magnitude could be considered a threat to national security, and it was likely that someone had convinced either the President or some other high-ups in Washington that it was necessary to get military types involved. Nonetheless, Krishnan firmly believed that the large quantity of biologists, ecologists, and geneticists working under his supervision would be enough to find a solution to the worm epizootic. Apparently, someone else didn't agree. In his mind, that meant that someone somewhere didn't trust him.

Manjak had told Sofia to call him if anything new and unusual had come up, but so far she didn't call, which meant that there was nothing "new and unusual" to tell him. Not that he needed to hear it from her anymore, as several of the major news networks had by now picked up on the 'developing' story, including the international heavyweights CNN, BBC, as well as and several others. "Environmental disaster" and "chemical spill" were the two buzzwords being consistently tossed around by the anchors as Manjak paid attention periodically while filling out paperwork from Mozambique. According to CNN, by this time worms all across Mexico have been reported as dead or dying, with even the more southern states of Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua starting to experience the problem.

The phone rings. Sure enough, it is Sofia. "Hey, honey, where are you?", asks Manjak, wanting to know her whereabouts at the moment. "I'm up in the north in Ensenada, I should be heading down to Mexico City tomorrow. Why?" "Just wondering." "Hey, I found out several interesting things from some American agro-specialists here in Ensenada" "Really? What?", asks Manjak as his curiosity spikes. "Well, according to them its a virus. Some virus has spread from California into Mexico and is killing the worms off. The oil or chemical spill that they're talking about- its all an official cover. The government doesn't want panic." "Why would they panic? Its not affecting humans, is it?" "Most people won't get that, Trip! They'll just hear the word _virus_ and then all of a sudden you have people running around like crazy, get vaccines and buying up supermarkets. They are trying to avoid that." "It'll get out sooner or later. Can you fax me any documents or information about this virus? Did they identify it yet, designate it?" "Its known as the EWK-1, and I'll send you what little I have by this evening." "Alright" "Give a kiss to the kids for me?- I have to go. bye." "bye."

After hanging up, Manjak goes back to the Mozambique filing. After signing several of the requests he walks over and hands them to Maria, who promptly walks out to deliver them. Manjak returns to his desk and checks his email. The first thing that pops up is the good news- the kidnappers in Yemen have agreed to a deal. The bad news is that the email states that they still expect to be paid ransom, merely 75% less than what they previously had demanded. Manjak believes that the deal sounds reasonable- after all at this point the FAO simply wants our employees out of there. _Less. Only $100,000 per aid worker now. We can take that- click yes. We've got bigger fish to fry, not to mention a reputation to keep._

With the Yemen situation calming down, Manjak sets out to his next order of business- a trip to Bangladesh and Kenya in order to reorganize the Organization's effort in those two countries- effort that has been lacking in the eyes of some. Manjak hopes that within a few weeks he would be able to shuffle out the bad workers, replace them with better ones, and hopefully repair organizations' image in those two countries. Manjak arranges to travel tomorrow after reading through Sofia's faxed reports from Mexico.

Mexico

McCarthy was left with little else to do in Ensenada. His expertise was in analyzing and researching environmental threats and hazards, not mapwork and emergency operations. Yet, it seemed that the situation was rapidly degenerating into the latter. Rodriguez needed to head to Mexico City to meet with government officials, so McCarthy decided it was best that he accompany him and offer any help that he could provide.

Most of the country was devoid of earthworms at this point, the only areas that did not have large scale die-outs of the annelids were some of the northern, dry, desert regions of the country by the Texan border. The rest of the country had fully experienced the shock and awe of the epizootic as it plowed south along the country during that week. By this point nearly all the earthworms in Mexico north to south were dead, and many farmers and rural residents were harboring suspicions that the officials' reasons for the epizootic plaguing the country were not the same as the reasons given on the news.

McCarthy hoped he could talk some sense into the government. He also hoped that Rodriguez would be able to convince key senior officials to accomplish two things: firstly, to convince them that it is a virus, which they probably already know, and to avoid contact if at all possible- after all no one knew of the potential transmissibility of the recently-designated EWK-1 bug. Secondly, he wanted to make sure the government would see to it that crop harvesting be done earlier than usual this season, as the quality of the soil would start to deteriorate within less than a month according to Rodriguez's estimates.

Rodriguez and McCarthy boarded an AeroMexico flight from Tijuana and flew to Benito Juarez Airport in Mexico City, landing at around 3:00pm local time. Flagging one of Mexico City's renowned green cabs, the two make their way towards the Palacio National in the heart of Mexico City's downtown. As they pass through the highway and enter the dense traffic and streets of the city itself, the cosmopolitan yet distinctly Latin flair of the megalopolis becomes evident.

The streets are just as crowded as that of any major metropolis, such as Los Angeles, New York, or Chicago. Hurried businessmen and women in sharp dress mix with grimier auto mechanics, cashiers, and many others along the street. An occasional guitarist drowns out his small corner in song, while tamale sellers and shoe shiners call out to passerby advertising their business. Intensely loud reggaeton music pours out of several vibrating cars at a stoplight, sizzling the air and cars around. The driver of one particular Porsche, a twenty-something with large aviator sunglasses, hardly notices the effect his shattering music has on the small world around him.

Pulling away from the traffic light, downtown Mexico City soon comes into view, boasting its unique Spanish-Aztec mixed architectural style, large cathedrals, and massive buildings of stone masonry built during the sixteenth century. The central plaza, or Zócalo as it is known in Mexico, is abuzz with people, traffic, and activity in general. The Zócalo plaza is one of the largest open city spaces in the world, with almost a thousand people walking, talking, or simply taking a break on its surface. It is surrounded on all sides by some of Mexico's most important landmarks, including the massive gothic Metropolitan Cathedral on its North side, the Nacional Palace, and the Old Portal de Mercadores. Hidden beneath these buildings lies the Aztec's most important ancestral temple, the Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlan. A large Mexican flag flies high and prominently over the middle of the great plaza.

McCarthy steps out of the cab onto the curb of the plaza, leaving Rodriguez to pay and give the driver a large tip. Of course, McCarthy figured this would work since he paid for the cabs in Ensenada. Gonzalez steps back onto the curb as the taxi drives off. "Leaving me to pay?", asks Gonzalo half-jokingly. "I paid last time", quipped back McCarthy, "besides, this is what happens when the government doesn't get us a car". Pointing at the National Palace, Rodriguez simply says, "Whatever. That way. What do you think of Mexico?". "Well, since I've never been to _la Ciudad_ before, I must say its different." "Different from what?", asks Rodriguez as they begin walking across the main plaza. "Sacramento!", replies McCarthy, feigning excitement. "Funny." "Actually, really, it is different from Sacramento. I'll have to stay longer to really get to know it, but I wouldn't mind staying a little longer to explore the place" "You may end up getting what you wish for", states Rodriguez dryly, "We'll have to see how this meeting goes".

The two arrive at the main entrance of the National Palace where they identify themselves to the guards and wait to be let in. Two minutes later they are being led into the grandiose building by a government secretary in a business suit. Once inside the Palacio is a large majestic structure made of high ceilings and walls covered in murals depicting the conquest of the Aztecs and the founding of modern Mexico. Chandeliers of incredible glass and crystal light from the roof and shine upon the arching hallways, illuminating the bright red carpet which covers the floors. Rodriguez and McCarthy are escorted through the halls until they enter a meeting room filled with several ornate wooden chairs and table together with a small speaking podium.

The secretary then tells them to make themselves comfortable, since things are running a bit late; the Foreign Minister, Daniel Ortega, should be with them shortly.

"How do we start?", asks McCarthy. "I'll start, as they should already be familiar with my reports. Most importantly we have to stress the impact that the earthworms have on the agriculture economy, and that if they want to avoid larger shortages of food later, they should have an early harvest". "That's the same exact thing that the Governor has ordered in California." "Yes", replies Rodriguez, "It is a basic first step. You will have to tell them that they may want to prevent contact with the infected worms". "That's a problem. How do they separate a rural population from one of the most profound species found in rural areas?" "That will be their problem. You just convince them that they have to do it." "Right", grunts McCarthy. "Let's first see how long we wait."

After twenty minutes of waiting, McCarthy wonders aloud, "Did the State Department forget to tell them we were coming over?" Rodriguez chuckles, but remains silent and continues to wait patiently. However, at that exact moment a man of average height with graying hair and dressed in political garb walks into the room. "Excuse me. Sorry for the delay", apologizes the man in nearly perfect English, "We are rather busy. I'm Daniel Ortega, Foreign Minister of Mexico. Pleased to meet you, doctors." Rodriguez and McCarthy take turns shaking hands before sitting back down. "The cabinet won't be able to hear you, but talk to me as if I am the whole cabinet", proclaims Ortega. "We won't need a translator," elaborates the Minister, smiling confidently with the statement.

"Very well, sir", replies McCarthy slowly. "We are here, on behalf of the US government, to help your country assess the earthworm disaster and help you take measures to stop it, which we have been doing in Ensenada." "Yes I know,", answers the Minister, "A failure in all respects, as clearly the plague has manifested itself beyond our borders as well".

"Unfortunately yes", interjects Rodriguez, "but you know it is a plague. Both the USDA and US government knows as well. We recommend that the Mexican government tell its people that it is a virus, and not some other natural or manmade catastrophe." "You've mentioned recommendation that in your last report Dr. Rodriguez. We simply find it unwise to do that. How will people react when they know a virus is sweeping our country? We don't want mass panic, nor civil disorder which has already increased significantly in two weeks."

"But if you don't tell the people, someone else will", adds McCarthy, "CNN en Espanol, for instance is already-" "CNN is fine, but it should limit coverage to the US for that" snapped Ortega. "I'm not an official of the state department here sir, but I do now that you cannot simply tell CNN what to show and what not to" "Debatable", replies Ortega irritably, "We will decide that at a later date." "It will be out sooner rather than later", mutters Rodriguez. "Let us move on", states Ortega, more authoritatively, "next item on the agenda, as the American euphemism goes."

"Well, we wanted to tell you that Mexico's farmers should start harvesting their crops. Now. We have here a flash drive, with some information from the USDA for you", explains McCarthy as he withdraws the USB from his front pocket. "Harvest their crops now?", asks Ortega in near-disbelief, "Why?"

Rodriguez shifts in his seat a little, before responding. "Well, I explain it all in the information on that USB, but basically, all your soil has lost a major biological component. I would say a critical component. The soil will no longer be able to aerate nearly as efficiently or quickly as before, no longer decompose detritus, no longer have healthy mineral levels. Simply put, the soil will degrade in quality until it is no longer usable but rather detrimental to the crop plants. And then, without good soil, you could have excess water that doesn't drain which will drown plants; dusty, weaker soil that doesn't support root structure, organic matter that piles up and doesn't compose. Plants will be more susceptible to diseases, with less minerals and resources at their disposal. The plants will slowly die from this, crop plants are as sensitive to changes in their soil environment as they are to climate change, if not more so."

"That is a very hefty argument you make, Dr. Rodriguez. Let's assume for a moment that everything you say is true- and I know you are an expert in you field, which is why I say that- it will totally disrupt the entire cycle of farming in the country, which is strongly seasonally dependent." "This change is even more important than climate", repeats Rodriguez, "although you may experience an increase in atmospheric carbon levels, between all the dead worms and the un-composted decay left on the soil layer. None of this will be beneficial to the crops, and rather than wait for the accumulated effect of these processes to take effect, the government of California has ordered all farmers to harvest within the next two weeks. We think this is the best course of action, and I recommend it based on my expertise."

"I see.", replies Ortega, leaning his head on his hand in a thoughtful pose. "We'll look through your report. Perhaps you are right. This will harm our agricultural cycle and economy, but perhaps you are right." "It will be a lot more economically harmful to wait", states McCarthy. "Very well. Anything else, gentlemen?", the Minister inquires.

"No sir", answers McCarthy, "those were our government's two greatest concerns" "What about the social situation?", Rodriguez asks the Minister. Ortega replies, " Well, that remains to be seen. If we keep our crops intact by harvesting them early, as you recommend, we shouldn't have a shortage in three or four months, should we?" "Not everything is ready to be harvested immediately", says McCarthy, "there will be crop losses in the process." "We'll take care of that", jabs Ortega smoothly, "but what we tell the people of Mexico is our business. And that is that. It has been a pleasure, gentlemen" finishes the Foreign Minister, standing up. After finishing the customary goodbyes, McCarthy and Rodriguez are escorted out of the National Palace to an awaiting government car. Sensing a buzz in his back pocket on the way out, McCarthy checks his cell phone. "New instructions", he tells Rodriguez after checking his inbox, "We have to get back to LA." "For what?" "I'm supposed to help take direction of the situation along with LaJoy", replies McCarthy, more than a little surprised at the message.

Zheijiang Province, China

South of the Pearl River Delta lies Zheijiang, an administrative province of some 50 million inhabitants, more urban than rural. Nonetheless, the countryside outside of the province's major cities are still dotted by rural peasant-folk who live in farmhouses away from the hustle and pollution of the cities. Cheung Lak is one such local farmer.  
Yet this day, his daily routine of applying pesticide to his crops is disrupted by an unusual discovery: the presence of dead worms amongst the crops. As puzzled and perplexed as his colleagues across the Pacific Ocean, Cheung drops to one knee to pick up one of the earthworms. Seeing the creature not move in his grip, he concludes that it is dead- and so the others must be as well. Picking up a shovel, he starts to clean the land of the hundreds that have appeared dead over the past day.

At the end of several hours of work, Cheung heads back to his farmhouse, feeling hot, tired, and drained of energy from the work. Parched, he pours himself water from the family well before deciding to take a nap. _What an odd day_ ; he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes.

UCLA, California

Expecting a call from NBACC at any moment, Krishnan sits impatiently at his desk waiting for the phone to ring with the expected caller. Sure enough, he isn't pressed to wait long before his call is received. "Dr. Krishnan, CBEID." "Good Afternoon Dr. Krishnan. This is Jackson Medina. I am the Director of Research at NBACC. I've been instructed by the Secretary of Defense to act as liaison between your research team and mine. As such, any material that you have on this outbreak should be forwarded to me as soon as possible." "Jackson Medina? I know you. I used to be on the oversight board for NBACC for a while." "Yes, that's me. It has been a while, sir." "Yes it has. Hopefully you changed that project to fit closer with my recommendations. But that's beside the point. I'll make sure that all information we have compiled will be received by your people as soon as possible." "Sounds good. Let's say 14:00 hours?" "Agreed", answers Krishnan, "By the way, have you started taking samples on the East coast?" "Yes we have. We need controls specimens. You don't have any more." "Yes. Keep them, quarantine them. They may prove useful later on." "Sure." Medina hangs up the phone, leaving Krishnan to send over every single report, recommendation, and analysis that the scientists had compiled in the past several days.

Krishnan begins sending attached files via his e-mail to Jackson Medina's provided e-mail address. Reports such as _Virus Designation EWK-1:Potential Rate of Spread by Krishnan and Miyazaki_ , _Human Impact and Transmissibility by Carter and Wang_ , _Agricultural Impact by Krishnan, Wang, and McCarthy_ , all are sent to Medina's email. Krishnan spends another half hour sending every single paper compiled to Medina, hoping that the scientists and counter-biowarfare specialists at NBACC could make some more sense of the data than has already been done. _Perhaps I should go over there, but I'm in charge here_. _That wouldn't be helpful over here._ Krishnan dismisses the though, realizing that video conferencing and electronic media will have to suffice for communication purposes.

Krishnan's thoughts are interrupted by knocking on the wall. Looking up, he immediately recognizes his friend Viktor. The ethnic Russian, who surprisingly spoke English with barely an accent, was Viktor Konovalov, one of the world's renowned geneticists, who had just flown in to give him a hand. It didn't hurt that the two men had known each other personally for almost twenty years.

"Ah, Viktor! I didn't see you there." "Yeah, right. Who were you so busy talking to that you couldn't sense my approach?" "That would be NBACC. The National Biodefense and Countermeasures Center. They need to know what we're doing, apparently. Frankly, I think its in our best interests that they're in on this one". "How did you manage to get NBACC's help?" "Spoke to Onassis. He probably realized it was a matter of national security, and that led to this." "Interesting", replied Konovalov, "You know, this whole thing is interesting though. Let's see- Virus running amok. Worms dying. Farmers complaining. I would expect to see this situation maybe in a bad science fiction movie if it weren't somehow happening for real".

"I know. But it's happening, and we have to deal with it." "Of course. I'm merely saying I'm surprised that the military would consider an environmental problem as _a matter of national security_? What a coincidence.", clarifies Konovalov. "That it is", agrees Krishnan, "a very highly unusual one. And one that seems to be having ever more profound effects on us".

"So. Back to business", continues Konovalov. "You mentioned that you wanted to see what I can do to save the worm population?" "Yes. One of my proposals that I outlined for Onassis is to use species that are resistant to the virus, and put their resistance-genes into the current worms. There are thousands of species of earthworm, surely some of them are immune." Konovalov ponders out loud, "True. Well, actually, even if none of the actual _species_ are immune we're bound to find a mutation that encodes for immunity in some individuals. Have you collected plenty of samples?" "Most of the samples that we took are dead." "Are you sure? Make sure USDA checks them all again- if so much as one annelid is still moving in a pile of a hundred thousand we need it." "Fine. But what about-" "Also", interrupts Konovalov, "It has to be a worm from the areas already affected. No East Coast, Canada, Brazil, whatever. That will be just dealing uselessly in probabilities. Find me a worm that is still living in California, and I can find you a solution to this upcoming mess. An immune worm, to be precise."

"Very well, I can definitely arrange that", responds Krishnan. "In the meantime, why don't you see what our geneticists have been working on. An entire readout of the annelid genome- you're going to love it." "I should look at that." "Lab 204" "Got it. If I discover anything extraordinary come down immediately.", quips Konovalov. "Very well."

Konovalov marches out of the makeshift office and presumably heads directly towards laboratory room 204. _Hehe, he will probably get immersed for hours_ , thinks Krishnan to himself. Getting up from his seat Krishnan decides he needs to get back to research in the labs, where the rest of the scientists are busy. As it is, the moment he reaches the doorframe on his way out, the phone rings. Swerving back, Krishnan grabs the device and presses it to his ear. The gravely sound of the voice immediately points out that it is LaJoy. "-Hey are you listening?", he continues as Krishnan listens silently. "We have confirmed cases in China. Shanghai, some other cities and the areas in between. You there-" "Yes. In China? How?", inquires Krishnan. "We're assuming the worms were by boat before all traffic was stopped out of San Francisco and LA", replies LaJoy, "Now its really out of hand. The Chinese are not going to want us butting in there telling them how to handle it."

"True", states Krishnan, " but even we don't have how to handle it, exactly, as of the moment." "This is simply a bigger mess than anyone may have expected. How is work going towards a cure?" "Nothing so far." "Keep me posted". LaJoy hangs up. In China? Krishnan simply stands there pondering the enormity of that statement. The epizootic just went from subcontinental to global in scope. And Krishnan had no way of fixing it.

Zhejiang, China

In China at that very moment, Cheung Lak had the same knotty feeling in the pit of his gut as many others across the Pacific. However, his was from another cause. After sleeping through the night, he had gone back to work cleaning the worms. He even helped two of his neighbors clean their gardens. The worms were a filth to touch and a problem to dispose of. In the end, Cheung and his neighbors decided to bury them in the ground, where they had come from. What puzzled Cheung at the time was that all the dead worms had been found on the surface. What about the rest underground? Were they dead too? was something he wondered while working.

That worry was quickly replaced by something far more troubling when he got home. He started feeling even more tired than he was yesterday. His wife simply told him he was overworking himself cleaning up the critters. Then the fever started.

Cheung went to bed and hoped that the fever would be over soon. He needed to be in good health to tend to his farm, for if he couldn't, who would? But it persisted until the next day. Then he started having the urge to vomit, which eventually he did. A stomachache, a fever, were all symptoms that Cheung could not afford to have. It meant that he would need a doctor. His wife called a doctor over to check on him. The doctor diagnosed it as a fever and gave him several aspirins and other pills, which were rather expensive- but unfortunately necessary.

Now, Cheung feels as if the world really is coming to an end. No more energy to move out of bed, no more energy for anything. Cannot eat, barely can drink. The pills were the last solution, and it seems they have failed. Even his wife seems to be strangely ill lately, and hasn't been attending to him much lately. So Cheung lies alone in his small countryside home, burning from the inside out. Burning. . . .

Dhaka, Bangladesh

Disembarking at Dhaka's Shah Jahal International Airport, the first thing that becomes immediately obvious to the newcomer is the intense humidity. In the beginning of October, when the summer monsoon season is subsiding and a mild winter is moving in, the country's tropical humidity never ceases. Even in the terminal, the air is saturated with a thick moisture that clings to a traveler's clothes like an unwanted coat of dew, soaking into shirts, blouses, and suits alike. Most Bangladeshis are used to the tropical climate of the rainy and generally wet nation, but visitors are often distraught during their first visit by the often tempestuous weather.

Today is a typical day at the start of the fall season in Bangladesh, as Manjak notes outside the airport it is raining mildy. With the monsoon season coming to an end, the intensity of the daily rainfall also tends to decrease, and more sun generally appears in the sky. Being a nation straddled by the Tropic of Cancer, Bangladesh is in a position to receive intense sunlight during the Summer season, much of which is blocked by heavy cloud cover. The average October temperatures in the region never fall below 25 Celsius or go above 30, leaving the residents with a mildly hot fall that is still difficult to bear due to the constant humidity.

Manjak puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses as he leaves the terminal. The cloud cover is starting to drift away as the rain slowly dies away. He hails a taxi and tells the driver to take him to the FAO building in downtown Dhaka.

Along the way the roadside scenery quickly changes from airport to a developing urban metropolis very quickly. Dhaka, located in the geographic center of Bangladesh, is the most developed part of the country, which is plagued by numerous environmental, population, and infrastructural problems. Traffic is much different here than in Rome- most traffic is not comprised of regular cars but rather of rickshaws, in both manual-driven and powered variants. Scooters are also increasingly common components in Dhaka's traffic, along with a number of private automobiles. A large number of public buses help add to the traffic, causing considerable congestion along roads that were obviously not designed for the traffic capacity they are pressured to serve.

The FAO national office in Bangladesh is in the downtown of the city, in the Dhanmondi Residential Area. Due to the Banladeshi's Muslim traditions, working hours are Sundays through Thursdays, with Fridays and Saturdays off. After getting into a small traffic jam that takes nearly half an hour to get out of, Manjak finally arrives at the house. After paying the driver a generous tip and collecting his briefcase and rolling suitcase, Manjak enters the office and identifies himself to the man at the desk. After recognizing him, the man speaks into a phone, calling the national director. Zafir Mohammed appears a few moments later front one of the back rooms, stepping forward to greet Manjak.

"How are you, sir? Welcome to Bangladesh!", he smiles cordially, shaking Manjak's hand. As English is the official language of the FAO in nearly all its constituencies and offices around the world, communication is made simple between Manjak and all his co-workers in Bangladesh. "Its great to have your here, Dr. Manjak. We are grateful that Rome can give us some attention". "It's good to be here, Zafir. I'm really interested in working more with you, as you know headquarters should be devoting more attention to Bangladesh than it is.", replies Manjak tightly. They move off to the side, Manjak hushing down his tone. "Director Maurice hasn't been giving attention to any operations in Southeast Asia-This is my perspective and I told you this. It'll take a little more time before anything substantial can be done." "I understood that, Trip", replies Mohammed, "Its simply that- time is a resource not afforded by everyone". He pauses, giving Manjak a chance to reply. "And trust me, I understand that, "answers Manjak tersely, "but for now, you've got me here. Now, what is the situation here?" "The situation has been deteriorating, to say the least", states Mohammed, "the government is too mired in internal squabbles to actually help. We're left to implementing many of our reforms through corporations, and private donors. Not only is the corruption in the government hampering our efforts, but the sheer size of the effort is also a major obstacle. We have 160 million people in 147,000 square kilometers, an area approximately the size of your New York State. I've been to the States; I know. There is a growing gap between the less developed western sections of the country, and the improving and slowly advancing eastern areas. In addition, a small but non-negligible threat remains from militant groups that will tend to target foreign offices and NGOs."

"Yes, I read your report. You also mentioned something more urgent."

"China has had some outbreak of a previously-unidentified virus affecting its earthworms. They don't know how to deal with it, and its spreading faster than their government though possible. I suspect that it could be as bad as SARS was, if not worse." Zafir looks slightly worried. "If they can't prevent a virus like that from spreading, who can?"

Manjak is equally shocked at the news. "The worm virus is in China?!! I don't believe it." "Why?", asks Zafir, puzzled at Manjak's suddenly pale face.

"The exact same thing is happening in the Americas, although the entire story isn't out yet- that won't last long.", explains Manjak quickly. "Really? I wasn't paying attention at the international news for some time now. An epidemic that is killing earthworms?" "Epizootic", corrects Manjak, "Exactly that. But, I have all the information the USDA and Mexican government have put together over the past two weeks. We should use it to get prepared, and get the country ready."

"Ready?", asks Zafir.

"How did you get that information? Yeah, ready for its invasion here. And if its spreading at the rate reported to be spreading, it will be here faster than you can imagine. My estimate is about two weeks for it to spread from central China through Tibet and Myanmar over here," Manjak speculates aloud, before continuing, "We have to start working on a comprehensive plan to prevent general population and wildlife exposure to the virus. If we can do this within two, three days and then implement it within the next week, we should be able to prevent major environmental damage from occurring. But first, I need to alert all FAO national offices of this new development."

"I see. Let me get you the phone. And some maps, diagrams, what do we need?" "Hmm, we need to think this through first. Let's sit." The two men, finally having tired of talking while standing, walk into Zafir's small, cramped office and huddle in front of his computer. Manjak quickly logs onto his official email and rapid-types a letter to the office in Rome, which will then inform the rest of the FAO's world offices of the situation. After sending the message, along with attachments from the Chinese government's website and news sources despite their reliability, Manjak focuses on the local Bangladeshi prevention. "Let's see. We would ideally want to rely on natural boundaries to prevent contamination." Manjak studies a detailed map of the region on the screen. "The Himalayas, the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers- these are all great barriers. Problem is the river is behind Dhaka and half the country."

"We could create artificial barriers. Ditches, dikes, walls, anything necessary. Perhaps relocate the people and livestock that are too close to the borders to behind the barriers." "Yeah. What about scorched-earth? A line of earth with nothing living in it should prevent anything from reaching us. Most viruses don't survive in dead soil." "No one will agree to such a radical measure.", answers Zafir, "Besides, I've heard some avian viruses can." "This isn't an avian virus. A no-life zone will prevent it from spreading. Nothing survives in the burnt zone. But yeah, perhaps we shouldn't resort to that yet. What about a large scale disinfectant treatment?" "Aerosol spraying of disinfectant chemicals? That's equally radical", disagrees Mohammed, "Relocating people is harsh enough, but in some cases it is acceptable; however, as soon as any environmental or property destruction is also wrought; well then the solution becomes the new problem."

"Zafir. . . look. I've read the reports from Mexico, I've seen the pictures from California and my background involved predicting scenarios like this one. A virus will not stop, so long as hosts are continually around; plus this one is special. This is like AIDS for the worms, coupled with the virulence and ease of transmission of Ebola. Now what we need is a large physical, geographical barrier between any infected areas to the east and us. A barrier with _nothing living_ in it, two kilometers wide. Its spreading itself from worm to worm via something, fluid exchange, sexual contact, slime, whatever. If we deny the space to worms, and all the other critters that revolve around the worm, I'm willing to bet we can stop this right here, right now."

"Where would you build this strip? We'll have to move many people, regardless of where it is built. And then, we are still just the FAO. The government will have to mandate it, and that will be nearly impossible to get them to do as they listen to us at their discretion." "I'll do it myself if I have to." Mohammed laughs, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Fine", Mohammed's smile disappears again, "In the meantime, I will be trying to implement a more feasible plan." "It is feasible. Can't you see?" Mohammed signs deeply, thinking it through. Finally, after a minute he asks, "Two kilometer swath?" "Two kilometer swath", is Manjak's answer. "Perhaps it is do-able", consents Mohammed, "At least more do-able than your proposition to aero-spray the entire area. No Aerosol is worth it- not even anti-bacterial agents. Every herbicide used in history, even for supposedly beneficial purposes- always resulted problems. Most infamously being the case of Dichlorodiphenyl-trichloroethane, or DDT, in the States." "Decontaminating the rivers would mean putting huge quantities of antibacterial agents. Plus, I think it is an impossible task to do in the time we have. Ditches, dikes, and walls by themselves won't do squat against a plague. But if there is no living material there, it should be exactly that-an impassable wall. We need to talk to the government. In person. Now.", Manjak states firmly, standing up as the plan quickly forming in his head. "Now? We should outline the plan first", protests Mohammed. Manjak catches himself in his hurry, sitting himself back down. "Right. Let's see. . . . "

Four hours of screen time later, Manjak, Mohammed, and the rest of the FAO personnel had put together a preliminary plan. Mohammed had to call several personal acquaintances of his to the office in order to better plan the route of the proposed dead zone. Zafir had managed to snag an environmental engineer, a geologist, and an ecologist from other work and rushed in to cooperate. Now, even though all five agreed that the plan was simply preliminary, nonetheless it was imperative that it be presented to the government as fast as possible. The route would cut through the eastern section of the main part of the country, encompassing the cities of Lakshan and Comila as it cut northwards through dense alluvial jungle towards the Himalaya mountain range. The drafted burn line would turn into the Brahputra river where it would be left at the Indian border. Again, it would be part of Manjak's responsibility to try to convince the Indian government to go along with his plan as well.

After packing his laptop Manjak along with Mohammed leaves the FAO building and enters an older grey Toyota, which Mohammed quickly explains is his personal vehicle. _No government subsidized transit this day_. Mohammed starts the engine and they speed down the road, slowing down to avoid intersecting traffic consisting of a mix of the usual mopeds, automobiles, motorized rickshaws and buses. Multitudes of pedestrians dressed in Bangladeshi dress, which in Dhaka is a mix from traditional _sarongs_ to western street fashion, crowd the sidewalks and crosswalks. The dense patterns of commotion limits Mohammed's movement through the traffic. Eventually he manages to steer the car through the steel and concrete jungle onto Kamruzzaman Road, a larger two-lane avenue that runs east-west through the city. Once out of the smaller dense side streets, the vista expands to the center of old Dhaka- complete with lush gardens and British Raj era administrative and ceremonial buildings, which are now used by the Bangladeshi government for the same purpose. "Over there to the west you can see the Bangabhaban- our presidential palace", explains Mohammed as he weaves through the moderate traffic. Manjak nods as he silently observes the grey-yellow Victorian building in the hazy distance. Mohammed guns the engine and manages to fly the car between two city buses , making a sharp turn before squeezing the car into a makeshift parking space between several other mopeds and nearby fruit stands. "Its a short walk," reassures Mohammed, "-to the Ministry of Health and Agriculture." The hot, humid, and mildly suffocating air engulfs Manjak as he steps out of the air -conditioned comfort of car and onto the sidewalk. As they walk along, Manjak, being quite obviously a foreigner, receives many curious yet strong stares from passerby - which justas quickly die out as people take notice of his suit, briefcase, and Zafir walking alongside him.

The ten minute walk through crowds, street venders, and Army guards eventually lands the FAO officials in the Ministry, housed in a old Raj-era building similar to the Bangabhaban Presidential Palace. It becomes quickly apparent to Manjak that Mohammed is well-known amongst the officials and employees in the Ministry, as many greet him- most with a surprising degree of cordiality. _He must be well liked here_. . . Manjak jokes to himself. There is no doubt, however, that the requirements of his post, as outlined by Manjak himself, makes it Mohammed's job to have good relations with the Ministries in his country. The Minister himself soon appears, and the men sit down at a polished glass table in the Ministry hall to talk. Manjak is quickly left out of the conversation as Mohammed rapid-fires in Bengali, whether because the Minister doesn't speak English or because they are more used to Bengali doesn't matter to Manjak. He listens to the words between the two for ten minutes, the Minister seemingly getting a negative image of the plan as he reacts icily to some of Mohammed's words. The Minister then leaves.

Manjak is left with Mohammed in the ornately designed, yet spartan meeting room. "Where did he go?" "He's agreed at least that the President will have to approve the plan. I've explained that we have no choice in the matter. Especially as you predicted that we will get afflicted in two weeks with the virus EWK." "Will this be a presidential cabinet meeting or just the President?" "Most likely the entire cabinet" replies Mohammed.

However, it turned out that the President cancelled several other functions to arrive just two hours later at the Ministry. Now late evening, Mohammed, the Minister, and the President turn into a midnight haggle over the intricacies and simplicity of the proposed plan. Manjak is forced to butt in on two occasions, when asked by Mohammed, to voice his opinions. He also learns that both government officials are very understanding of English, but his hopes of using it for the remainder of the conversation are quickly dashed as they revert to Bengali. After another hour, the President, flanked by two guards, shakes hands with everyone and leaves. Mohammed leans over to Manjak and states in English, "Your small victory, Trip. They've agreed to try it. Mostly because of the timetable concerns." Manjak smiles grimly at the statement. "Then it will be up to us to see to it done right", he surmises prophetically.

Baja California

McCarthy and Rodriguez had taken the first AeroMexico flight out of Mexico City to Los Angeles that they could get their hands on. After the meeting with Ortega, Rodriguez wasn't sure what or how the Mexican government's response would be- would they listen or not; after all, the two were merely acting as emissaries of the State Department due to their knowledge and expertise in the area. Now, LaJoy wanted them back in LA in order to organize the FEMA's and USDA response to the widening crisis. As they exit the airport and head for Rodriguez's parked car, McCarthy's cell explodes to life.

"Hello?", asks McCarthy into the receiver. "Hello? Hello yourself!", replies a snappy and highly irritated female voice. "Just when did you think you were going to call!? You were supposed to pick Jake up two days ago! Where were you?!" McCarthy immediately realizes that its Stefanie, his ex-wife, and just as quickly recognizes that his feet are in very hot water. _Damn, why did I forget to call her yesterday!?Next time remember, Brain-dead!_ The only way around was to turn onto the offensive, quickly, or else he would be metaphorically boiled, again. "Hey, I know I know. I'm very sorry, I should have let you know. My bad. But the phones weren't really working.", he explains softly into the phone. The excuse sounds lame even to him.

Rodriguez throws an inquiring glance at him as he opens the door to his Jeep Grand Cherokee, trying to figure out his colleague's dilemma. "I was out on a business trip, and it was hard to get a working phone." "Where could you possibly be without cell phone coverage, Mike? This is so like you." "Mexico. Important stuff going on there, haven't you been watching the news?" "No. I've got enough to take care of as it is, with Jake here all weekend as well? And you think I have time for news?!" "Listen, I know, I know. But he's big, he should be able to take care of his stuff." "And wash his clothes? Drive him around weekends too?!" "Hey, Stef, I know I'm just being my bad self again here. Look, I really will need to ask you a favor. I was wondering if you could keep him for the whole next week." "What? What are you on?! Why?" "Turn on the news for a minute, you'll see why. Please?", McCarthy begs, something that he would usually never do.

Rodriguez starts the engine, and within five minutes they are on their way from LAX racing towards east downtown. The air whooshes across McCarthy's face from the open windows as he focuses on the conversation with his ex-wife, Gonzalo pushing the Jeep to 70mph. Stefanie answers, "You're really pushing it." "Come on, I almost never ask for favors! Just this one time, Stef! This problem at the job is way harder than anything I've seen before, and I don't even think the Feds can fix it." "Its that bad?", asks Stefanie incredulously. "Yes, it is. You really should at least take a quick look at the news- even _Yahoo!News_ should have it", Mike drolls on, "I need you to take care of Jake for the time being. Chances are this should be over in a week", Mike says, knowing he is lying through his teeth. However, the last thing he needed now was to be taking care of Jake in the middle of this hectic mess. "All right, you always were such a liar. I'll do it.", she replies exasperated over the phone. "But you better start getting your act together and tell these things ahead of time. And the news better be real." "Thanks so much, honey.", answers Mike, truly grateful for her cooperation. "Yours truly, signing off. And watch the news." "Bye. take care of yourself." "I will. Bye.", McCarthy shuts off the phone.

"What was that all about?", asks Rodriguez, over the din of speeding traffic through the completely opened windows. "Ahh, my ex. I forgot to call her like, two days ago. Our kid, he's eleven, lives at her place. Comes over to mine on the weekends. Obviously can't keep him around this weekend, as I'm pretty sure I won't have one." "I see." Rodriguez keeps staring at the road, swerving in and out of traffic expertly, yet keeping McCarthy clutching at the edge of his seat. Once traffic turns very dense in the city center Rodriguez slows down. A half hour later they make it to the USDA regional headquarters on 360 East 2nd Street.

LaJoy is in his office when they enter. "New plan, doctors", he announces as McCarthy and Rodriguez walk in the door. "Governor has asked for FEMA and declared state of emergency while you were away, so, they're showing up to help us quarantine, start controlling the city food supply and distribution, and every other preparation that we will need in the next month. You-", LaJoy points at McCarthy, "will be serving as my executive officer of quarantine. You are familiar with alien organisms, preventive spread of diseases on agricultural land, so forth- apply that to the city. You've got a field promotion, thanks to your work these past three weeks."

"Thank you sir." "My pleasure. The plague has spread itself across the East Asian continent, including China and Korea from what I hear, and there are fears that it will spread further. If we are any example, such attempts seem ill-fated. Your job, gentlemen, will be to prepare the city and the state for the worst. Dr. Rodriguez, everyone has read your reports and it seems that you are the best qualified expert we have on the subject of worm ecology. You'll help FEMA prepare." "I'm a scientist, not an emergency planner. I can predict consequences, sir, I cannot plan for their contingencies." "Yeah? Well, whatever.", LaJoy coughs, taking a napkin to cover his mouth. "You're officially an advisor now, so you're going to figure out ways to deal with this -ecologically- in the long scale. We've been allowed to move into the City Hall and set up a command headquarters for the emergency mobilization efforts. I suggest you get yourselves over there as soon as possible, and set up. You've both got new offices as of today." "Got it, sir", replies McCarthy. The two men walk out of the USDA building and head back out onto the sidewalk. "City Hall is right across the street", states Rodriguez nonchalantly. The large white cubical building housing the USDA offices is overshadowed by its taller, pointed neighbor, which houses the offices of the City government in over forty stories of office spaces. McCarthy and Rodriguez cross the street separating the two constructions before entering City Hall, wondering how they would settle in their new office environment as quickly as LaJoy would like them to.

Only five kilometers away on UCLA's main campus, Krishnan hurries down a flight of stairs. In the middle of meticulous work on the earthworm species' genomes with Miyazaki, Konovalov called and told him to get down to his lab- and fast. So Krishnan hurriedly told Miyazaki to continue without him and sprang towards lab 204, where Konovalov had set himself up. Krishnan walks into Konovalov's lab to see Viktor running the DNA sequencer while looking down the Auger Electron microscope eyepiece. Konovalov looks up at the sound of Krishnan's footsteps. "Viktor, what is this? You said you needed to see me right away?" "Yes, I did", replied Konovalov sternly. "The virus, EWK-1, where did it come from?" he asks Krishnan. Krishnan, puzzled by Konovalov's rather rhetorical question, answers, "I think that is something I would like to know as well. I believe that it is a mutant strain formed from a Stomatitus virus." Konovalov frowns, "It has been documented that Vesicular Stomatitus virus can leap from worm to worm, but those experiments used microscopic _C. elegans_. VSV is related to rabies as well as foot-and-mouth disease." "We've had a case of food-and-mouth disease documented; at a farm near Bakersfield had a case of foot-and-mouth several years ago- unfortunately the farmer conveniently forgot to report that to us until we ran a thorough background check on the history of farm and agriculture virulence in the region." "Hmm.", Konovalov thinks, "Interesting. You suspect it may be possible that a Stomatitus virus mixed with some leftover, partially dead strain of the mad cow. But encephalopathy is caused by a prion, not a virus. I've run tests for foreign protein admixtures, nothing has come up. Also, encephalopathy symptoms, such as physical and mental degeneration, holes in the brain- none of the earthworms specimens have that. Rather, we seem to have a degenerative immune response. Similar to symptoms of AIDS, not quite however." Konovalov motions with his hands towards his head.

"Though, lets really think this through- EWK-1 spreads at an unprecedented rated, dries up the worms from the inside, torturing them shortly before killing them quickly, and has incredible transmissibility, even it is a given that fluid exchange, particulates, and physical contact is quite rampant amongst earthworms. Now I ask you- what is the probability that this is a natural mutation- as opposed to a deliberate, artificial killer of worms?" "You don't think this is natural?" "I think it has been engineered. In a lab. By humans, with motive. No virus in the world would target earthworms, all major species, so discriminately." Krishnan sighs deeply, reflecting on Konovalov's words. The thought had crossed his mind as well, but the theory of natural selection would have been far easier to explain that the theory of deliberate engineering. "Anything besides your hunch to back up this hypothesis of yours?", he asks his friend genuinely.

"Yes." Konovalov sits down at his computer terminal and pulls up an image of the EWK-1 DNA gene sequence. The multi-colored digitally projected double helix stares back at Krishnan, until Konovalov splits it into individual Guanines, Cytosines, Adenines, and Thymines. A sequence is isolated from the main strand and brought up to full view. "The Start codon located here encodes for attachment to earthworm red cells. The viral genetic code also calls for rapid replication in those cells, specifically earthworm red cells which are different, if not radically so, from human ones. The virus also thrives in the fluid environment provided by the worm mucus and body temperature, and fluid viscosity. EWK-1 has thrived in culture of 25-30 degrees Celsius, but does less well in culture of say, 30 degrees or above 34 degrees Celsius. EWK-1 is entirely immune to the antibacterial properties of _Eisenia Fetida_ hemolytic fluid. Also, antiviral properties of coelomic fluid in the _Lumbricus Terrestris_ species has no effect on EWK-1. Anti-IgA and Anti-IgB, immunoglobins present in coelomic fluid, did not present any effective immuno-response even in samples with higher than normal concentration."

"30 degrees Celsius. So at least it shouldn't be harmful to humans. The CDC will truly appreciate that information. So EWK virus binds to earthworm blood cells, kills them, spreads. Yes, if it wasn't that good at replicating itself we wouldn't be having this problem." "It's in its very genes. Genetically programmed." "What about the other symptoms? We have documented a complete breakdown of the worms' nervous system. The entire ganglia throughout all the body segments stops working. And you say there is no encephalopathy, or anything related to Creuzfeldt-Jakob disease." "I never mentioned Creuzfeldt-Jakob. Besides, CJD is a human disease; caused by prions. Yes, a strain of mad cow. But not related. No, EWK-1 is an immunological disease. One designed to inhabit the worm and kill in the perfect time- fast enough to be lethal, yet slow enough to have plenty of time to incubate itself and propagate enough to infect the next victim with a lethal dosage. It is a perfect worm killer."

"Let's assume for a moment that it was designed by someone", reasons Krishnan, "What purpose is there to this? Who would make this disease?" ,he asks his friend. "I can't fathom whom, there are so many possibilities when you think about it," answers Konovalov distantly, "but think of the effects this has wrought all across this coastline. I think someone with a distinct knowledge of agricultural ecosystems, strong skill in virology. This is a strike at the ecological heart." "No terrorist would create such a disease. You yourself stated that it won't survive in humans- so we have to rule out that possibility. Terrorists try to kill people, cause large amounts of physical and psychological damage, and maybe hurt the economy. Still assuming your scenario is correct.", assures Krishnan. Then he catches himself, realizing his own statement to its full extent. " _It causes huge amounts of damage_.", he breathes slowly. "Yes", explains Konovalov coolly, "it is just a theory, but I wouldn't simply brush it away. And I am telling you this strain won't be found in nature just like that- not even by accident. But if you haven't noticed yet, all of the agricultural output is expected to fall by up to 50% within the coming months, numerous other species that feed on and rely on worms have had their lifestyles completely disrupted or have retreated, and some are speculating that even the carbon recycling of trees has been affected. Not by much, but affected nonetheless. I would certainly say economically we will have as much damage as ecologically."

"Do you have any suspects?", Krishnan asks, hoping to coax as much information from Konovalov as possible. _I have to tell LaJoy this and see what he would do. . . or maybe even Onassis_. "I'm not part of Homeland Security, I hardly have a clue. Anyone with the proper equipment should be able to manufacture this. But I have to say, this is laboratory grade. It was not engineered by some flunked Masters student or aspiring Islamist. It is a military grade weapon, something that both the old US and Soviet Cold War weapons specialists would have been proud of." "So its Russian?" "I didn't say that.", snaps back Konovalov, "If this was in the fifties or sixties I would have said yes, absolutely; without a doubt. But we live in a much more complex and unpredictable world these days." Krishnan ponders over the validity of Konovalov's game changing theory. "So it may be from a biological weapon? Could it be from some old Soviet stockpile?" "Possibly. I don't know. I can't determine the origin." "You know that this theory of yours changes the entire nature of the game? Before, it was thought to be anything from freak virus to industrial negligence. Now people will say it was intentional." "It's still just a theory." "A theory by the world's leading geneticist. People will take it seriously." "As they should."

"I have to start making calls". "Yes, you do." Krishnan walks out of lab 204 and starts having many thoughts race through his head. _Imagine if some radical had dug this up in Vladivostok or somewhere! A relic of the Cold War?_ Then a more disquieting thought. _What if it happens to be from a US facility and not a Soviet one?_ Krishnan dismisses the thought. Ever since the 1975 Biological Weapons Convention most states around the world had agreed not to develop the world's most dangerous weapons. The Convention prohibited the research and development of all biological and chemical weapons, as well as the stockpiling of significant quantities that have no justifiable purpose. As a previous member of the NBACC Oversight Commission, Krishnan had read the Convention word for word to familiarize himself with the context of worldwide treatises on such weapons. However, simply because of the Convention's existence was not reason to prevent the continued undercover and secretive research into areas of the biological sciences best left alone. Even recently during the 1980s, the Soviet Union had experimented with a covert program codenamed _"Ecology"_ , which was designed to exterminate domesticated cattle via Foot-and-mouth disease and African swine fever. At Fort Detrick's NBACC, Krishnan had personally seen the laboratories of all bio-safety levels, which range from 1-4, and see firsthand the biodefense measures being undertaken there. No paper, document, official had ever mentioned offensive bioresearch in the US since 1969, when the US signed and ratified the BWC. The Soviet program ended with the dissolution of the USSR.

Still, the next steps would be important. As Krishnan walks into his makeshift office, he picks up the phone. LaJoy answers immediately. "We have a problem.", is all Krishnan can begin with. "Alright, Apollo, what is it?", replies LaJoy sardonically. "Konovalov is . . . hypothesizing that EWK-1 is engineered. He states that belief due to the unusual combination of the virus's biological and behavioral properties. Pace of spread, rate of infection, and the fact that it not only survives, but apparently thrives in the earthworm circulatory and lymphatic systems." "That doesn't mean that it is man-made. Every indication so far has pointed that it originated somewhere in around Bakersfield, likely due to transmutation with Foot-and-mouth." "Viktor. . ", Krishnan stops himself, "Dr. Konovalov disagrees. Yes there are traits of foot-and-mouth, but no protein admixture suggesting recent swapping of DNA. Also, foot-and-mouth is prion originated while EWK-1 is a virus. He's sending you his findings on the subject as we speak." "Fine, I'll look at it and get back to you."

Forty five minutes later LaJoy calls back. "I'm still somewhat skeptical, but I have to take your friend seriously. I'm getting Secretary Onassis on the line so we can talk this through." "We don't have much information to talk through, though", replies Krishnan, "I myself am not sure where to start. Assuming his hypothesis is correct, now what? It could have come from anywhere had someone chose to manufacture it. It requires a somewhat educated virologist and a sophisticated lab, but there are plenty of people with millions to finance such a project." "If it is man-made, its most likely of Soviet origin.", states LaJoy, "But it could have come from anywhere in Asia, or even Africa." "I'm going to tell Jackson Medina at NBACC about this and see what they say." "Fine. I'll get back after informing the Secretary." Krishnan hangs up and opens a video conference to NBACC on his PC. After waiting ten minutes for the other side of the line to pick up, Krishnan finally gets an "on-line" status from the other side. Medina's tanned and slightly swarthy face appears on screen. "Ahh, Dr. Krishnan. I was hoping to hear back from you soon." "Dr. Medina. I need you to give me an accurate analysis- how easily can someone engineer EWK-1 in a lab?" "Eh, it should be fairly easy here at NBACC. A couple of weeks perhaps." "What about a more rudimentary lab, the cost of less than a million dollars worth of equipment?" "Possible for sure", answers Medina. Then, curiosity etched on his face, he asks, "why?" "Some of us feel that we may be dealing with an artificial virus. Nothing substantial on that just yet." "An artificial virus? You think we are dealing with a terrorist attack?", asks Medina, suddenly more alert. "Maybe. We just don't have enough information yet." "Anything we can do to help?" "Get me every bit of research on bio-weapons that affect agriculture. See if you can recreate a similar virus- and keep it contained." "That will require permission from the Sec. of Defense", replies Medina. "I'll get it. And, I may be flying over there soon." "For what?" "Getting another tour of the facility!", replies Krishnan sarcastically, suddenly tired of Medina's open-ended questions. _This man is supposed to be a liaison, not such a questioning thorn._ "Keep in touch", he finishes the short talk before turning off the link. _I may have to go to NBACC myself. Who knows what they are capable of in those labs. Besides, I want to see them manufacture an identical virus themselves. With the aid of high technology and without- that should prove the limitations of creating EWK-1 by lawless denizens._ With these thoughts in mind, Krishnan walks out of the office and heads across campus to resume working on decoding the earthworms' species' genome.

Los Angeles

The climate of Los Angeles is a generic humid Mediterranean, so even in December the average temperature hover around 10 Celsius, leading to the popularity of winter hoodies, light jackets, and t-shirts. Donning a pair of sunglasses even in wintertime, is not out of the question, at least for McCarthy, who figures lower California receives generously more sunlight than Stockton on any given day.

Taking four hours to organize his new office space in the City Hall Building, McCarthy is rapidly changed assignments by the USDA- FEMA- LA City joint authority set up to handle the distribution of food packets amongst the population. Figuring that he will be here a while, he also hopped off on a short shopping spree to buy a few new dress shirts, pants, and a sports jacket. That done, he returned the items to the office and headed out, with sunglasses, towards' Rodriguez's parked red Grand Cherokee, which he would borrow for the tour. Entering the SUV, he turns the key and revs up the engine.

It takes a thirty minute drive on the 101 Hollywood Freeway to arrive at Center Panorama, located near North Hollywood in Panorama City, a large exurb about 20 kilometers northwest of downtown. Manjak pulls into the parking lot of a local government building that is being used as the center. Parked right outside the squarish, non-descript building are over a dozen trucks, requisitioned by the State government to bring in the shipments from the Midwest. McCarthy parks the SUV next to the building itself and gets out. A line of people stretches around the block, waiting patiently in line for their turn to receive a coupon number and their share of supplies. Some haggardly looking, some plain dressed yet presentable. Many tired, but few energetic.

Several stores and a supermarket lie across the two-way street. Through the glass of the supermarket, McCarthy sees its shelves empty, devoid of produce for sale. The expanding food shortage has left supermarkets across the continent without items from bagels to Frito's. There was a decreasing amount of essential foodstuffs that could be devoted to non-necessary items such as buns, potato chips, pies and pastries. Chocolates were becoming a rarity as cocoa production in Ecuador, Brazil, and Indonesia was shelved in half. Orange juice was at a premium since the orange crop was nearly entirely destroyed- the crops from California and Florida were totally wasted, as farmers complained of small lumps growing on the plants instead of full grown fruit. When the US then switched to importing oranges, Brazil's orange crops were similarly affected. With the world's two largest orange producers not producing any more oranges, supermarket's were hard pressed to keep up demand for the popular fruit.

Pretzels and cookies were still on the shelves in other supermarkets in near-normal quantities, and McCarthy was for one quite pleased that his favorite drinks Sprite and Coke were still stocked up high. The problem was that, you couldn't keep giving people Coke, Sprite, and Dr. Pepper while feeding them on doughnuts and cookies. And that, McCarthy, figured, was where the problem lay. Actual produce that was even remotely healthy, ranging from as lettuce, tomatoes, salads, carrots, cauliflower, chick-peas, potatoes, and any kind of fruit was at point zero in all the west coast states.

Determined to at least see what the generic rations were being handed out, McCarthy brushes through the waiting lines and walks right through the glass sliding doors of the building. Inside, humidity combined with the sweat of many people waiting has produced its own undeniably unpleasant stench. Fans running at full power alleviate this by blowing the air around, yet not cooling it down enough nor removing the odor. McCarthy walked in and interrupted the first receptionist he could find. The young Latina lady quickly directs him to the back, pointing the way to several offices behind as she continues to interact with the man waiting for his coupon. McCarthy walks by, and heads towards the back. Glancing to his left, he sees through the windows dozens of men removing carton boxes of food around, arranging them into somewhat organized stacks of rows. McCarthy knocks on the door of the office indicated, seeing another lady on a phone. The short, plump woman motions for him to enter. Shortly afterwards she places down the phone, and extends her hand. "Dolores Menendez. Or Dee for short. So what can we help you with?" After introducing himself as well, McCarthy specifies why he's there. "In addition, I want to see what type of food supplies you are receiving." "Oh, I told them that we were getting junk. The first week it was MRE's, can you believe that?" "MRE's?" McCarthy expected that to be the case, asking, "What about now?" "Oh, still getting MRE's. Now we have a slightly improved version, though, the Protein Improved Meal Package, or PIMP. It basically consists of more protein, usually chicken meat or egg, which still comes from the chicken. Ha. Let me show you." Smiling lightheartedly, she leads the way outside to the rear end of the building. Tens of thousands of brown cardboard crates are piled on top of each other here, creating a seeming cardboard valley. She points towards the boxes, saying, "See? Those are all the MRE's. We're still distributing them, not going to run out anytime soon." Dolores opens a 6x6 foot box lying by the building door, which had already been opened. "Here's the PIMP." McCarthy takes a packet out- the wrapping is nearly the same dull plastic wrap and brown coloring as the MRE- and tears the packet open, peeking inside.

Three wraps are included in the meal, the largest of which is labeled "chicken patty". Alongside it comes with a "potato salad" in a plastic container and two granola bars. "This is what you're handing out?", asks McCarthy incredulously, "these are military rations!" "Well, the rest is basically giant bags of wheat, corn, and frozen fruits", answers Menendez, looking over at the meal in McCarthy's hands. McCarthy walks over a few meters, turning around a wall separating one parking lot from another. The second lot behind is a sight to behold- hundreds of white bags, all marked with USDA stamped in bold black lettering. He goes through the bags, casually looking over expiration dates and contents.

"At least they will last a while.", comments McCarthy, noting the bags' don't expire until a year on. The bags were labeled as an assortment of lentils, peas, beans, other legumes, potatoes; basically any food that can be stored in dry condition for a near indefinite period of time. He continues walking through the rows of plastic bags, writing down on his small pocket-sized notepad the assortment and variety of food that he sees..

A truck's engine noisily breaks the tranquil silence, coming from behind the rows food aid. The engine sound quickly shuts down, leaving McCarthy wondering where the sound came from. He heads in the general direction of the noise. Passing through the stacks of crates and bags, McCarthy comes across a chain link fence. Sliding up to the fence, he notices a shallow green pick-up truck parked adjacent to the food crates. A large, muscular man with a shaven head in a wife beater shirt is loading the crates into the back of the pickup truck. _What? Is he stealing the food!_ Looking again, McCarthy figures that _: Yes, he is!_

Figuring that he should do something to prevent the man from taking food intended for the ordinary people of LA, McCarthy walks around the fence towards the man, hoping to dissuade him. "Hey Buddy,", calls out McCarthy to the man, who is even larger and more dangerous looking up close. Sporting a variety of large tattoos on his huge biceps, the man brings himself to full 6-foot-1 height turning towards McCarthy. "Hey man, you know that this is a restricted space. Authorize personnel only? Says it somewhere over there. You got an ID?" The man looks at McCarthy distantly through his dark green eyes. "Don't need an ID, man. Just doing my job", mutters the man. "Let me see an ID", repeats McCarthy. "You don't need my ID", growls the man, more gruffly this time. "What do you think you are, some kind of Jedi repeating those sentences? They won't work, only an ID will", asks McCarthy again. "Go to Hell.", barks the man, irritated. He turns around and opens the door of the truck, getting ready to go in. _Crap, this guy really wants to get out of here."_ McCarthy leaps two steps towards the man, grabbing the back of his wife beater at the shoulder to stop him. The man backhands McCarthy in the face, stunning him. Then a devastating blow from his right fist slams McCarthy's jaw, sending shockwaves through his head leaving McCarthy to drop down on all fours. The man uses the opportunity to quickly jump into the truck and drive off. McCarthy opens his eye taking in the license number, merely glad that the man didn't stay and land more blows on him or do worse.

Picking himself up off the gravel, he immediately calls 9-1-1. Describing the vehicle make and number to the operator, he sees Dolores running up to him talking rapidly into her cell phone. "Dr. McCarthy! Are you all right?" "I'm fine", he replies quickly, tasting some blood in his mouth. "You're bleeding", observes Menendez worriedly. "I'll be alright", answers McCarthy, wiping away his mouth with his left hand. The right has a few cuts and bruises over it, but a few band-aids should fix it up soon. "Who was that guy?" "I don't know", replies Menendez, "But whoever he is, I'm sure he's not the only one interested in stealing."

"I better report this to LaJoy. Have you had this happen before?" "We've had three previous incidents of people taking boxes, but they've never physically confronted any one of us before." "So this is a case of escalation?" "Maybe. I don't know", answers Menendez, closing her phone. "I'm so sorry, you had to get hit by that thug, we have an officer at the door. If only-" "Really, it doesn't matter," McCarthy assures her, "But I'll see that you get tighter security around here. We can't afford to be losing inventory to criminals like that." The two walk back through the parking lot towards the district office. "I'm going to the next stop. Before, though, do you have any band-aids?" "Yes. This way." Menendez leads McCarthy to her office where she opens a drawer on her desk, handing him four band-aids. Fixed for the time being, McCarthy decides to continue rolling.

Heading out the door, he nearly walks headlong into an officer walking in. "Wow. Sorry, officer. My bad." McCarthy glances down backing away slightly, seeing the officer's name tag which reads _Chen_. He points with his thumb backwards. "The guy left already. But there could be more of them, hiding out back there." "Are you all right?", asks Officer Chen. "I'm good." The officer rushes past McCarthy inside, as two more police cruisers pull up in front of the building.

McCarthy walks into his car taking out his cell phone as he walks. He calls up LaJoy to tell him about the incident with the tattooed thief. LaJoy doesn't take the news too kindly, but doesn't seem surprised. McCarthy surmises that this wasn't the first time someone had tried to rob one of the distribution centers. McCarthy hangs up, and drives west in the direction of Santa Barbara for his next inspection stop. After about forty minutes of driving his cell vibrates, leading him to pull off to the side of the highway in order to answer it. _Unlike most people, I'm not going to multitask on the highway. . . .especially with all these crazy drivers._

He answers the phone call once pulled over, whose caller identifies himself as part of the California Highway Patrol Department. The officer on the line informs McCarthy that his assailant had been arrested and brought into custody. "Do you know why he was there?", asks McCarthy curiously, suspecting the answer. "For now we're assuming theft. The crates described to us by FEMA have been found in the truck." "Has he committed any other crimes?" "Yes, he has a criminal record. Also, This isn't the first time one of the distribution centers has been targeted for robbery, Dr. McCarthy." "I see. Very well. Thank you." The distribution centers had to be protected more vigorously, McCarthy decided. There was too much at stake to let random bandits simply walk in and walk away with food supplies intended for every other law abiding inhabitant.

McCarthy calls LaJoy. "We need to change the strategy." "What strategy?", asks LaJoy, "You're lucky to come out in one piece and you're already asking for a change in strategy?" "Yes, to prevent similar things from occurring in the future. Call the National Guard." "Call the National Guard? For what?" "To guard the stations. The police don't have enough personnel to do their regular duties and keep an eye out on all the aid centers. So talk to the Governor and tell him to dispatch a few troops. At least in Los Angeles and San Francisco metro areas." "I'll consider it." "You won't regret it if you do it now." "Right.", retorts LaJoy as he hangs up. _Damn. That guy needs to learn how to be more security oriented if he's going to continue to run this operation. Otherwise, things will escalate._

McCarthy starts the engine and pulls leftwards back onto the highway. _Another hour to Santa Barbara._

Bangladesh

Back in the confines of the FAO office in Dhaka, Manjak watches a live news coverage of workers being trucked to the designated areas of the barrier. The plan was to dig two ditches a mile apart from each other, running parallel, across the country towards the Himalayas. Everything between the two ditches would be burned, leaving no trace of any living matter. The Indian government had agreed to collaborate in extending the barrier across its provinces of Assam and Sikkim. The plan, basically set forth by Manjak and Mohammed, dictated for completion of ditches within 7 days, in order for the burn policy to be initiated. The final location of the line skirted around all the major cities, unfortunately there were many farms that still lay in the middle of the planned barrier.

The camera footage showed people packing belongings into vans as they prepared to move westward- as the government had also decreed that all inhabitants east of the barrier would have to relocated westwards for the time being. People in colorful _sarongs_ to farmer's garb packed inside buses, on pickup trucks, and on scooters all poured onto the roadways. So a mass exodus of over ten million people began, starting another major congestion on the country's roads which were already incapable of handling the traffic required of them. Many of the travelers had nowhere to go, no family or relatives in the west of the country; no friends who could physically take more people into their homes. Already there was a feeling of discontent in the streets as a result of the government's order to move, but for the moment people followed the decree.

Manjak counted on that.

In order for the entire idea to work, there would have to cease to be any type of interaction between biological entities across the two sides of the barrier. no humans, animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, or protozoa would be allowed to go from one side to the other. Looking at the TV, Manjak sees the first crews get to work with shovels and small bulldozer near some remote village. For a brief moment he fights an urge to go out and do some handiwork himself, but realizes that this would be hopelessly useless. The government even opened up its coffers to finance work on the project, hiring construction companies, engineers, and labor; leading to a temporary decrease in the unemployment as people signed up to work on the barrier. Manjak by himself would offer miniscule help.

More importantly, he needed to fly to Thailand later in the day in order to work over the details with the Thais to follow a similar approach. If the Thais' would isolate the Malay Peninsula from the rest of the continent, the move could potentially prevent the spread of EWK-1 to Malaysia, the islands of Indonesia, and the Philippines. Australia, further south and isolated geographically, had pursued its own independent policy to halt all shipping from the Asian and North American mainlands within the week. After the stop in Bangkok, he would head directly to Beijing and assess the situation FAO would be dealing with in China.

Manjak turns his head, hearing footsteps. Zafir enters. "I'm off to the airport, flight leaves in two hours.", states Manjak, "See to it that Plan B works out." "I will." "Make sure that the silos are stocked, with enough food to provide basic nutrition for four months. Weed out corrupt practices in the bureaucracy, the only result will be less food to go around. FAO's job now will be to see food reserves maintained until soil quality can return to normal. Then it will take four months minimum to grow a new round." "It is going to be an uphill battle." "Yes it will. I'm not going to make other recommendations, but in the long run it will be doubtful if the country will be able to support any larger population, even assuming that EWK-1 is able to be prevented. Other countries, including all the neighboring ones, will be experiencing similar problems." Manjak rises out of the seat. "I better prepare my bag. Don't want to keep the Thais waiting because of a missed flight."

Manjak walks through a hall to another room with two sofas, an armchair, and several closets. He takes down a few of his belongings from the closets and neatly packs them into his suitcase, lying on the floor by the first sofa. Throwing in a pair of shoes, three button-up shirts, a Tylenol, his case for reading glasses, and his spare cell phone, he closes and locks the Samsonite suitcase.

Pulling the trolley behind him, Manjak makes his way through the somewhat ramshackle arrangement of tables and chairs in the main lounge before coming to the door. Zafir is waiting outside, along with a cab. Manjak hands Zafir one last set of papers from FAO headquarters before getting in the cab, telling him, "Don't make me look bad, Z." "You know I won't." Manjak instructs the driver to take him to the airport.

The drive is not as monotonous as other cities, as the traffic forces the driver to make several unique and somewhat daring maneuvers to squeeze into spaces that would be high ticket-able by western standards. The driver still manages to get Manjak to the terminal within forty-five minutes, receiving a generous tip in return. Manjak hurries through the lines at the counters, checking in his luggage and passing through security within less than twenty minutes- unheard of at many US airports.

Manjak sits down at a seat, gazing at the Thai Airways flight unloading passengers at the gate. He opens up his laptop and sends an email to Maria, detailing events from the past three days and the results of the cabinet meeting. Another e-mail is from Director Maurice, asking him on his whereabouts. Manjak sends a brief note back explaining the situation, but otherwise feeling that more is unnecessary. _What's he doing?_ _Still in Rome, deciding what to do about EWK-1?_

Manjak brushes away a brief personal contempt for the man as he closes his computer and joins the boarding line.

Within another thirty minutes the aircraft pulls out from the gate and taxis to the runway, taking off into the cloudy sky. As soon as the aircraft reaches cruising altitude Manjak re-opens his laptop. Maurice sent a reply. The email detailed in brief a plan put together by the Director to meet with the Council of Europe that day, preparing a long range strategy for eastern Africa. There was no mention of EWK-1, earthworms, Mexico, China, the US, or anything related. _What? Really?_ A brief explanation accompanied a statement from the International Fund on Agricultural Development (IFAD), stating that at the moment there was no foreseeable way that the Fund could help the afflicted nations. Maurice even argued that it was the responsibility of the individual government's health agencies and internal agricultural and customs offices to work in preventing EWK-1.

_Maybe he doesn't see, that if EWK-1 gets its way around the globe, there won't be much agriculture left for FAO to develop. Ahh, of course thats it._ Manjak thinks, pausing at his revelation. _It really becomes the UN's responsibility, and through that FAO's to deal with the repercussion of the EWK-1 epizootic._ _No other organization has such direct influence over worldwide agriculture. But Maurice is stuck in a narrow path of thinking about development, improving farming methods . . . he thinks this is just another plant disease. He doesn't consider it a serious threat. It is._

Manjak decides that he needs to head back to Rome and get a high level meeting of the UN FAO delegates together, along with the intergovernmental agencies WFP and IFAD. The emergency meeting would deal specifically about dealing with EWK-1 in the long term, including potential effects that may be felt years from now.

What we really should be asking ourselves. . . what would happen if we simply cannot get earthworms back in those areas affected? Will farmers be able to live without them? Can we grow plants in poor quality soil? Can we grow them in an environment with no fertile soil at all?

The plane lands smoothly at Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport at 4:41pm in the afternoon, only ten minutes later than predicted. After disembarking Manjak goes over to a payphone. He calls an international exit number, calling halfway around the world to Mexico. Sofia answers the phone. "Hello?" "Hey. I need you to get me something, hon." "What might that be?" "There is a collaboration between the US and Mexican governments working on preventing EWK-1 and trying to determine its origin, right?" "Yes." "Can you get me reports on their scientific research?" "I'm fairly sure I can. It shouldn't be a problem. When do you need them?" "As soon as you can get them to me." "Alright." "Thanks hon. Love you."

Manjak hangs up. _Always useful having some back channels for information;_ He smiles inwardly. He briefly wonders how many other people use the same payphone on a daily basis and the bacteria he just picked up before brushing the thought away and heading towards the international arrivals and customs check.

06 CSI: DENIABILITY

UCLA

After waiting three days, Krishnan finally received the information from Medina regarding the NBACC tests done on infected earthworms. Scrolling through the pages of notes on earthworms and the effects of EWK-1 on the earthworm population, Krishnan reminisces over Konovalov's gloomy hypothesis. They certainly have done a lot of research on the genetic structure of EWK-1, how it relates to each species of earthworm, and tested measures of EWK-1 preventability. Although, Krishnan reminds himself, that is to be expected since NBACC's whole mission revolves around thinking of ways to prevent the spread of dangerous diseases.

Two species of European origin, _Lumbricus Festivus_ , a variant of the common _Lumbricus Terrestris_ , and _Eisenia Veneta,_ a large pinkish worm, were found by scientists to be still living in small numbers around several isolated areas of Idaho, Washington, and Colorado. These specimens were brought back to UCLA, where Krishnan's team ran tests on them. So far, the scientists from CBEID had managed to collect and categorize over 1,689 separate earthworm species. They had then taken a hundred specimens of each species and injected them with the EWK-1 virus. None of the worms survived more than two days. Sadly, the _Lumbricus Festivus_ and _Eisenia Veneta_ brought back from the wild had suffered the same fate.

Then, a surprise happened. A specimen brought in after all the others had survived the viral injection it had been given, and seemed to be doing fine. The worm belonged to the species _Driloleirus Americanus_ , also known as the Giant Palouse, a rare earthworm found in areas of Wyoming and Washington State. _Driloleirus Americanus_ is a highly unusual large earthworm, often over 18 inches long, entirely albino white in color and even capable of spitting in self-defense. The worm is reported to be able to burrow up to 15 feet below the ground. However, Gonzalez, upon hearing of the news, quickly pointed out the many problems. Firstly, he reminded Krishnan that _Driloleirus Americanus_ is a species considered _vulnerable_ by the World Conservation Union, due to loss of habitat and general rareness of sightings. In fact, since 1980 to the present day there had only been six confirmed sightings of the Giant Palouse worm, including the specimen captured and tested that week.

Gonzalez pointed out the futility of trying to acquire a large number of the worms due to their seeming isolation and rarity; however he also explained to Krishnan that there was no conclusive scientific information on their abundance in the wild. When Krishnan suggested that expeditions be sent out to collect more Giant Palouses, Gonzalez pointed out several attempts to do just that in the recent past had failed. However, since it was now an issue of national interest, Krishnan had pushed the issue with the CBEID staff and LaJoy had approved it.

After being told what to do by Gonzalez, the Universities of Wyoming, Washington, and Idaho had quickly formed groups of interested professors and graduate students to begin searching for more Giant Palouse worms which were then to be brought back to the lab. Krishnan was hoping that they would be able to find many specimens in a short amount of time, so that they could set them up in a quarantined habitat where they would be able to quickly reproduce. _If_ the search teams could get several specimens to UCLA, and _if_ the worms would be willing to mate, and _if_ numerous offspring were produced and survived, Krishnan imagined that the Giant Palouse could potentially be a critical step to repairing the ecosystems and agriculture currently in jeopardy. In the meantime, Krishnan continued to look for a breakthrough in genetic research that could produce an artificially resistant earthworm.

Drs. Miyazaki and Wang, along with their respective teams, had had no luck. Even though they had isolated multiple specimens of EWK-1, and more so managed to produced a vaccine, there was no way to inoculate the entire population which consisted of several hundred diverse species. Furthermore, the vaccination produced only provided fifty-two known species with immunity.

On the other hand, Krishnan was getting closer. Numerous new variations of earthworms were being created on a daily basis, by splicing genes from two different species into the gamete cells' DNA. Some earthworms could create hybrid species, others couldn't. Generally, a species cannot breed with another species and create viable offspring, but as many dog breeders and animal experts could testify this is not always the case. From mixed-breed mutts to 'Grolar' Bears; a cross between a Grizzly and Polar Bear, nature and humans have found ways to go around this basic rule of species' individualism. Krishnan was hoping that a hybrid of a commonplace species, such as _Lumbricus Terrestris_ , could be created that would be resistant to EWK-1. If that were the case, it would not be necessary to create an entirely new species from scratch.

Meanwhile, Dr. Medina had requested files from Konovalov's company GeneZTech. Krishnan decided that he better go ask Konovalov why Medina would want his private company files. Thinking about the request, he thought it highly unusual that a high-level government employee working for a top-secret installation would want some obscure files from a biotech company. _Perhaps they were contracting out research on EWK-1 without informing me about it?_ _But if so, wouldn't Viktor be at his own lab right now instead of wasting his time here in LA?_ Krishnan, not knowing what to make of it, figured he would get the answers from Konovalov.

He dons a anti-bacterial lab suit, latex gloves and shoe pads before entering lab 204. Seeing an associate researcher of Konovalov's Krishnan asks where Konovalov is. He points towards the rear room. Krishnan walks through the sterile environment of humming supercomputers and giant refrigerators before he sees Konovalov running a DNA sequence on a large screen. The black and white screen changes into a myriad of colors, all indicating different codons along the genetic code displayed.

"Hey, Viktor. I need to talk to you." Konovalov turns around, pausing the shifting color patterns on screen as he does so. "About?" "Medina, the chief of operations at NBACC asked for access to your files. I wanted to know why would he need, or want this." Konovalov sighs, takes off his black-rimmed glasses and sets them down on a table. He stares vacantly into space. "I suspected it would come to this. It was too close to be coincidental." "What is too close to be coincidental? What are you referring to?" "It's a long story." "It is probably better if you explain everything now, so that I could corroborate it later if the need arises. I'll be your witness, your defense for anything; you know that. What is Medina looking for?"

Konovalov looks at Krishnan directly in the eyes. "Two years ago, Medina contacted me on behalf of NBACC. He wanted to create a business partnership, of sorts. Really, it was contract work, of the type where I had to sign several fairly serious non-disclosure agreements and promise not to share the details with anyone. Government contract work." "What did he ask you to work on?" "He claimed that eco-terrorists were introducing non-native species of earthworms, and that he needed a defense. Specifically, a viral agent to kill the invasive species. I was a little puzzled as to why NBACC and Homeland Security was so interested in this field and not the USDA, who usually deals with invasive species, but the contract was worth millions so I ignored that. GeneZTech categorized hundreds of species and came up with novel bacterial and viral methods of eliminating the creatures. We created entirely new strains. But each one of the strains was designed for a particular species." Konovalov takes a pause, trying to gauge Krishnan's reaction to his revelation, "Obviously, we created thousands of strains in the end."

Krishnan takes in Konovalov's story, simply surprised at how naive his friend sometimes was in business matters. "So you didn't make EWK-1?" "No. I think that NBACC was responsible ultimately for that superstrain which is now EWK-1. Really the culmination of all that work." "And now you think that it's really a government weapon. . . . how typical of you." "It is!", exclaims Konovalov defensively, "What possible other purpose could there be to such a superstrain other than disrupting a nation's agriculture? A truly twenty-first century weapon. And then they could claim its some new disease from the backwater of constantly emerging new diseases."

"You couldn't figure this out before? I'm sure that it was contracted to other companies besides GeneZTech. That way most traces of the work wouldn't show up in their documents. The project would be virtually secret and very few people would know anything about it. Medina probably knows more about it that anyone else. In fact, I managed to run a few contacts from my days on the board of directors- they did have a project to work on agricultural diseases. It was known as _Project Deniability_." "Project Deniability?- never heard of it.", answers Konovalov, intrigued. "It was also started by Dr. Medina, as a proposed way of finding ways of countering enemy agents that harm our agriculture. I don't know what became of it, but perhaps he reversed its original intentions. Ironic how things play out."

"The project must have been set by the DoD. If this project was under the supervision of the Secretary of Defense, it will be difficult to uncover any more information or try to get this out to the public. The DoD will want everything quiet." "No. We're going up to my office right now. I'll talk to Secretary Onassis and see if we can get access to the latest files from Project Deniability." The two men leave the lab, taking off their gloves and protective face masks. Krishnan straightens out his tie as they walk through the red tiled corridors. "I can't believe you didn't tell me all this before.", he states exasperatingly, "You should have told me the moment you heard something- anything- on the news regarding the outbreak." The two men enter an elevator, heading upstairs. "I couldn't. . . ", replies Konovalov weakly, "There are too many forces tied up here. I figured the best I could do was to get myself up here as soon as I can and help fix the problem I created." "You didn't create it.", assures Krishnan, trying unsuccessfully to get rid of the man's guilt, "But you did lay out the foundations for this to happen."

The elevator doors open, and the two men walk out right into a group of four FBI agents. "Excuse us", Krishnan says politely. "Wait", states the Agent in Charge, distinguishable from his colleagues by his business casual suit. "You are Dr. Konovalov?", he states sternly, pointing at Konovalov. "Please come with us." "Officer, what's the charge?", demands Krishnan, taking in the situation and gripping his friend's shoulder tightly, as if to keep him away from the agents. "Negligence of items deemed vital to National Security, reckless endangerment of civilians' lives." Konovalov's already white face pales even more so. He turns quickly to Krishnan. "It can't be. I wasn't responsible for this!", he begs. "I was not negligent! The items were not under my control! You must clear my name!" "I will." "You have to! This is absurd!" Two agents cuff Konovalov. "Where are you taking him?", asks Krishnan. "I'm not at liberty to disclose that, sir", replies the lead officer. "This man has been charged with those crimes. You can take it up with the Director, sir, for any more information on this matter. My orders come from him directly." The men step right back into the elevator. Konovalov heads over to the second-floor window, watching as the agents put Konovalov into a dark, unmarked car.

The car drives off, leaving Krishnan without his closest confidant and missing a great scientist. Determined to find out what was going on, Krishnan rushed into his office down the hallway and punched up Medina's address on the teleconferencing website. Failing to connect, he phones him and finds the line busy. Forced to use the slowest and last resort, Krishnan sends over a wordy e-mail to Dr. Medina. _He should get back to me by tomorrow the latest_. Preoccupied with Konovalov's abrupt arrest and trying to focus back onto work, Krishnan instead decides to make a few phone calls and dig up some dead ends. _Did I not know you as well as I though I did, old friend?_ Perhaps more than a few skeletons will appear in the closets of Konovalov and his associates. He dials the Office of Homeland Security.

Bangkok, Thailand

Bangkok, a bustling metropolis known internationally for its modern city skyline, awesome spires, royal palaces, golden Buddha statues, and adult entertainment venues. The streets are awash with buses, automobiles old and new, trucks, and auto rickshaws, while monorails float above the streets unobstructed by the other traffic below. In addition to fame due to perceived exoticism, this city of over ten million inhabitants has also gained notoriety for large traffic jams, air pollution, wetland mold, and more recently violent demonstrations and shaky governments. Manjak worries that the precocious state of the new national government, recently brought to power in disputed elections, will leave it in no position to begin implementing a plan in time to prevent the EWK-1 virus from unleashing its full fury upon the semi-tropical nation.

Manjak takes a taxi, and hopes for the best. By 8:30pm, some of the afternoon traffic died down, but most was quickly replaced by nightlife traffic consisting of partygoers heading to clubs and other venues. In the dimming sky, the orange glow from the setting sun dazzles across the golden spires and steel-glass precipices of skyscrapers, showing the city in all its glory. The Chao Praya River, full of boats and barges, creates a large natural western boundary for the downtown city limits. The spires of the Grand royal palace come into view, jutting out into the dusky sky, conspicuously present amongst the foreground of modern office towers. The rest of the downtown, leading from the palace to the Parliament and Government House is a maze of businesses, residences, shopping malls, and temples that form part of Bangkok's unique metropolitan aura. Crowds of pedestrians flood the sidewalks, heading out to restaurants, movies, nightclubs, or simply heading home for the evening.

Manjak's taxi drops him off near the intersection of Thanon Rama V and Thanon Phitsanulok Avenues, only a block away from the Government House of Thailand. The House, which is a blend of early twentieth century Thai and Venetian architecture, was originally designed to be the House for one of the King's favorite generals. Now it is used to house the offices of the Prime Minister and his cabinet. Manjak is expecting to meet with the ministers of Agriculture, Natural Resources, and the Interior.

His phone goes off. Manjak checks the caller ID, sees that it is his secretary Maria Pereira, and picks up the call. "Yes?" "Trip. You are planning on visiting the People's Republic in two days, right?" "Yes, its on your schedule, why?" "I've just got a look at a report from the Beijing office; it seems that they're having an outbreak there." "I know that already." "I meant a human outbreak, Trip." "A what?", Manjak rolls the words in his head. "A human outbreak. They have several hundred people sick, and twenty dead, in the Shanghai region, in Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces where EWK-1 was confirmed." "You sure? How do they know there is a link?" "Its the hypothesis their scientists have right now. Geographic overlap, timing of victims getting the symptoms." "So they're suggesting the virus has leapfrogged to humans as well? Reports from Mexico stated that the virus only affects the worms. The human populations were fine." "I'm just giving you the news, Trip. It will be all over the major networks within a couple of hours." "Fine Thanks for the advance warning, good to know." Manjak hangs up, and crosses the street.

The uniformed guards in front of the building's entrance stop him briefly, before escorting him through the gate after reviewing his UN identification and name.

Once in the building, Manjak is greeted by an aide who shows him to a large conference room. After explaining that the Ministers will be there shortly, the aide assists Manjak in setting up his laptop to the screen in front of the conference table. Manjak sips a glass of water, taking a moment to check his watch- 9:16pm local time. Another aide opens the ornate doors to the conference room, while several men enter the room. Manjak is first introduced to Kasemchai Sumjialongkorn, the Minister of Agriculture, whom he had previously met at UN conferences in New York. Next he quickly shakes hands with the Deputies of the Interior, Natural Resources, Public Health, and one of the three Thai Deputy Prime Ministers. After taking another sip of water, Manjak quickly begins explaining the nature of EWK-1 and the likeliness of it coming down across central China to Thailand soon. He also briefly stresses the fact that Thailand is a crossroads between mainland Asia and the islands of Southeast Asia. After listening quietly for fifteen minutes, Sumjialongkorn interrupts him, asking, "We understand and see that this plan is critical for not only us, but for the rest of the ASEAN region as well. But even if we prevent EWK-1 from affecting our heartland and agriculture, we have heard today of the virus harming humans as well. Even with superb public health measures, it seems we cannot guarantee non-contamination anymore merely by a physical barrier. Trade will come down significantly if we take some of the measures that you propose." "It will. But in the long run, trade will always spike back up once the crisis is averted." "It seems that you are interested in using our capacity to feed over three times our own country's population, and using it to as leverage, Dr. Manjak.", points out the Deputy Prime Minister dryly.

'I am", he admits honestly, "But I am sure that every other ASEAN member will appreciate it if Thailand were to become their breadbasket for the next year or two. It would be a major favor, and, leverage to your advantage.", Manjak reminds them, trying to make the large changes requested of the Thai government seem more sweet than bitter. _There's always a carrot and a stick. Yes we're counting on their high agricultural capacity, that's because no one else will be growing anything in another three months!_ "It is likely that the world will experience a recession due to EWK-1 halting of trade, as we have already seen happening now on the US and Mexico's western coasts. Agricultural exporting will increase in importance if EWK-1 has its way, in both southeast Asia and around the world." The Ministers take a moment to converse between themselves in Thai. Manjak, who can't speak any except for 'Hello', waits patiently. Then the Deputy Prime Minister switches back to English, "We'll start working on your plan, Dr. Manjak. We're convening an special session of the Parliament tomorrow, I will inform the Prime Minister, and that should be that. But, another question. How does FAO intend to deal with the emergence of EWK-1 internationally? You won't be visiting all members individually, I presume?" "No. We're working on getting an emergency meeting of the FAO in two weeks, where we hope to lay down a longer term , and more expansionary strategy. But by that time, EWK-1 would have already made it to Singapore." "Very well then." The Ministers soon exit the room after exchanging farewells with Manjak, although Sumjialongkorn stays a bit longer. "If I may ask, what is FAO's idea for China? I suppose EWK-1 would have an even more acute effect on them than on us, and to make matters worse it seems to have planted itself there after presumably being transported over on a container ship. Shanghai is one of their larger ports." "We haven't come up with one yet. Besides, their government is more reluctant to have FAO take a look at what they call their internal affairs", answers Manjak truthfully, once again being reminded of the many gaping holes that still needed to be fixed. "I see. Hopefully your experts back in Rome will come up on something that we can have consensus on before the Emergency Meeting begins." "Hopefully", agrees Manjak. Sumjialongkorn shakes hands and walks off, before one of the aides arrives and tells him a taxi is ready to take him to his hotel. Manjak weary from the flying and remembering that he needed to rush in order to actually get the preparations for the meeting in Rome rolling, fell into bed immediately upon entering his hotel room.

Los Angeles, California

It may be November, but in lower California the weather is still sunny and the temperature still warm enough to give pedestrians a false impression of spring. A bright sun blazes across the pavements and rooftops while a gentle wind breezes from the west, keeping the temperature at a cool 16 Celsius. Peter LaJoy parks his car at one of the many multi-story car parks in downtown, puts on his sunglasses and a hat for the bald spot, and gets out of his Prius. The car park, conveniently located only six blocks from City Hall, is already filling up with businessmen, lawyers, and politicians coming from their daily commute. Walking out of the darkly lit place smelling of an oil, tire, and new paint aroma, he buys the daily newspaper at one of the kiosks near the pedestrian entrance to the building. Reading the paper on his way to work at City Hall, he is surprised to read about the virus in China. _Didn't we halt all trade out of California's ports? How did it get there?_ Reading about the Chinese authorities suspecting the transfer of EWK-1 by cargo ship, and the rapid spread of the epizootic on the Chinese Mainland, LaJoy began thinking about how much larger the problem of agricultural disruption would be to the Chinese, when EWK-1 ran its course. Another problem to worry about- as if the increasing robberies of food items and McCarthy's ridiculous request for a few National Guard troops wasn't making the situation hectic enough.

Then he read the shocking news: humans were being affected, after thousands are hospitalized and dozens die after exposure to what is presumed to be the same virus. _Uh-oh._ _Thats bad. And why hasn't that happened here yet? EWK-1 was first found here, why don't we have people sick and dying?_ Making a mental note to get the scientists at UCLA to give him an answer, and start developing a vaccine against whatever flu was making its way in China right now, LaJoy continued flipping through the pages.  
Mired into the paper, LaJoy barely functioning peripheral vision didn't pick up the van speeding by a bus half a block away. Stepping off the curve even as the pedestrian crossing sign turns red, LaJoy inadvertently walks into the path of the speeding hunk of metal. The driver sees LaJoy and attempts a small swerve, which does little as the van is hemmed in by cars on all sides. LaJoy is pummeled into the air and lands five meters from the collision point. He doesn't move, as some passerby yell for an ambulance while another rushes from the sidewalk to help the fallen USDA official. A policeman runs towards the crosswalk, halting all incoming traffic, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. . .

Racing along the Ventura Freeway on his way back to Los Angeles after a quick inspection tour of Santa Barbara's operation, McCarthy gets a call from Laurie telling him that something had happened to LaJoy and that he was needed back ASAP. He pushed the accelerator, just to the point of breaking the speed limit. Driving past Malibu Creek State Park, the oak and chaparral landscape becomes visible from the highway. Due to winter, and perhaps the ominous invasion of EWK-1, the lush verdant green of the grasses and scrubs has been replaced a more bland yellow. Park rangers had reported that numbers of birds, hedgehogs, beetles, and flatworms that feed on the earthworms had decreased in the past month. They were worried that in another month or two the second-level predators in the Park, such as the golden eagle, would start feeling the effect as soon as there weren't enough gulls, robins, or beetles for them to feed on adequately. It was likely that the eagles and bobcats in the Park system would diversify or move on to new sources of prey.

The towers and encircling sprawl of Los Angeles comes into view. Within half an hour McCarthy is in downtown and running up the steps of City Hall. He sees Laurie coming down, the steps, and greets her halfway. "Hey! What happened?" "He got hit by a car.", replied Laurie, worry written on her face. "I don't know how, maybe he wasn't looking.. . .", she trails off. "Someone better tell Onassis." "He knows. Hey have you read about China?" "Yes. No idea how it could be doing that. Maybe it's evolving really quickly." "That's what our scientists say." "I better see what Krishna has, and see if I can get Onassis." Laurie walks off, heading back to UCLAs lab. McCarthy goes through security and sees Rodriguez walking through. "Hey, what're you up to?", he asks Gonzalo. "Oh, I'm just going over to the Park Ranger station. What about you? Hey, you heard about LaJoy, hope he's going to be ok." "Yeah, me too. I'll catch you later." McCarthy takes the elevator into his office, where he first dials Krishna. After leaving him a message, he dials Onassis's number. After waiting several minutes, the Secretary comes on the line.

"Ah, McCarthy. Look, I've just received word that LaJoy was run over by a car. He's in critical condition, and I don't have anyone in charge of USDA for the region anymore." "I see. Perhaps Laurence or Grogan? Anyone from Washington with the experience and time?" "Time yes, but experience no. You've got LaJoy's position until I find someone to fill in." McCarthy gulps. "What?. . . sir, really, I don't know if-" "Its temporary. Simply keep our research ongoing, get me some results." Onassis hangs up. Well, that was that. At least FEMA was responsible for the logistical burden of bringing the relief into the city. The research on EWK-1, on the other hand, was a joint enterprise that included the USDA.

McCarthy leans back in his chair, reveling in his new position but also thinking of all the new burdens that have now been placed on his shoulders. His first action is to contact the director of FEMA. "Hello?" "This is Dr. McCarthy, from USDA LA. I've taken over all USDA operation temporarily. I have a request, but I'll need your approval, as well as the Governor's." "What might that be?" "I think we need the National Guard in Los Angeles, at least to keep an eye out on our relief centers. I spoke briefly with the Commissioner, and he agrees that the force can't perform normal duties while simultaneously guarding our depots. A thousand to two-thousand soldiers should do the job." "You better talk to the Governor." "What do you think, though?", asks McCarthy, curious for the man's answer, "You run them, I'm just making an observation." "I would probably agree with you, we will need them. If not now, later. . . ", he purrs ominously, "LaJoy hated the idea after you mentioned it, but I tend to agree. Fine. Videoconference in fifteen minutes."

Twenty minutes later, McCarthy finds himself facing a screen with not only the director, but the Governor of California and a General McSteele of the National Guard as well. "Dr. McCarthy, it seems that both you, and the director, think that there is an inherent danger to our relief centers, and that you need the Guard in town.", states the Governor flatly, waiting for the explanation. "Sir, this report details every single recorded incident or theft that has occurred so far regarding the logistical supply chain.", McCarthy holds up a report that he knew the Governor had been brief on. "We have had over thirty incidents in ten days", he clarifies, "in which we've had fifteen people hospitalized. I feel that if it were Guard units protecting the centers instead of the LAPD, people would think twice before attempting any robbery or heist. In addition, it will give the people a sense that, things are in order for the time being until this crisis is over." The Governor, who already seemed to have made up his mind, replies, "The director brought this to my attention before you did, but LaJoy never was in favor. General?" "Sir, I can have three thousand troops in the city by tomorrow." "Great. It's settled, then. The National Guard will remain under the command of General McSteele; however, General you are to coordinate with the Mayor and the LAPD." The Governor terminates the quick conversation. The General quickly grunts, "However, FEMA isn't going to instruct us on how to deploy ourselves. I keep that prerogative." "Very well, General", answers the director, "We're just glad to have you here." The conversation ends shortly after the General cuts off the line.

McCarthy turns to phone McGregor at Stockton when the phone itself rings instead. The speaker quickly identifies himself as a USDA official in Washington, and even faster reports shocking news- "LaJoy is dead. He died of his injuries at the Hospital. The Secretary has instructed that you are to temporarily occupy his office until a permanent replacement can be appointed." "Thank you", McCarthy breathes. The receiver hangs up. McCarthy takes a deep breath, adjusting himself to the new reality. Even though LaJoy wasn't particularly close, nor particularly someone that McCarthy had much faith in, it comes as a surprise and shock to have him die so suddenly and unexpectedly, least of all in the middle of the current chaotic situation.

Reminding himself that life goes on, he starts reviewing the paperwork left on what used to be LaJoy's oak desk.

Rome, Italy

A mid-afternoon flight to Italy from Bangkok had left Manjak in Rome in the middle of the morning, allowing him to head without delay directly to FAO headquarters from the airport. Although it is a winter day, the sun's bright rays lend a superstar feeling to the awakening city, a feeling of radiance and power. Manjak walks into headquarters feeling full of energy. It would be a long day, and preparations had to be made as fast as possible if an emergency conference were to be held. On the way in, he walks by Bao who is walking in to her office, as the WFP houses its offices in the same building. "Trip! I haven't seen you in over a week! Where are you getting back from now?" "All over.", replies Manjak quickly, excitedly, "SE Asia. As it turns out EWK-1 has made some inroads into Asia proper, we developed a quick response plan to help isolate some of the lower countries, especially those with high production. Basically, though, we need to go through this over. Can you meet me at my office later this afternoon? 5:00pm?" "Four it is." Manjak continues walking through the halls, seeing the usual familiar faces of coworkers and colleagues, as well as the occasional diplomat. Getting to his office, he greets Maria Pereira with a quick cheek kiss and settles down into his chair.

Organizing an emergency world conference takes a huge amount of time, people, effort, networks, money, and in the modern world communications and IT services as well. A huge checklist is to be completed first: Inviting heads of state and government? Check. Inviting Ministers, Cabinet members, and other high level officials in related departments? Check. Inviting non-governmental agencies who have a keen interest in trying to help people themselves, or in some cases merely spend money without accomplishing much? Check. Inviting droves of globally renowned as well as relatively unknown scientists from the world's leading universities and research institutions to speak and present at discussion panels? Check. Contacting several think tanks and getting them to start 'thinking' about solutions to the EWK-1 crisis and presenting those solutions at the conference? Check. Coming up with a preliminary agenda for the conference and relaying it to all the invitees and guests for feedback? Check.

At 4:56 Bao walks in, waiting for him to finish a call. "Two weeks," states Manjak calmly. "This conference is happening in two weeks. Meanwhile, it is very likely that several countries will be hit hard by the spreading EWK-1 within that time period. Including most of central America, Korea, India, Vietnam, in the Asia-Pacific region. What's the status of your food reserves?" "I've been trying to get as many donations as possible.", she replies, "If EWK-1 were to somehow get to India though, there would be no way that our efforts would alleviate the shortage throughout all of Asia. And the reserves compiled over years' effort, will be used up in two, possibly three months." The weighty implications of her last sentence becomes abundantly clear.

FAO's ability to provide food will be gone within three months. World food production will decrease by the next harvesting season, varying by season across the globe. Ultimately, within twelve months from now any country affected by EWK-1 would have drastically reduced ability to produce its own food and no outside help, as no other country would be in a position to export food for fear of starving its own population. Unless the scientists and think-tanks thought up of an innovative solution that could be agreed upon in the next two weeks, civilization itself would be facing a life crippling strangulation.

UCLA

Surprised and upset over the unexpected arrest of Konovalov, Krishnan spent a good thirty minutes sitting in his swiveling armchair silently contemplating the chain of events that led to the present. Reminding himself that he was once again working with only fragments of a puzzle in his mind, he eventually comes out of his daze and wondered how he was going to get access to the GeneZTech files that Konovalov had referenced in his discussion before his arrest. _The files were in the GeneZTech lab!_ _How am I supposed to enter his private company lab without having a key, a card, an access code, anything?!_ The authorities were very obviously holding Konovalov responsible for the release of EWK-1 into the wild, although Krishnan was bothered by the lack of details. _The outbreak was first reported in California, yet it was manufactured in Maryland. . . so first, how did it get there? Second who brought it there?_ _How much of a hand did Konovalov have in the development of EWK-1, was it actually grown at NBACC or perhaps at GeneZTech? Did Konovalov know the purpose of the project, but didn't share it with anyone?_

Krishnan figured that many of the answers to these questions would be answered if he could gain access into GeneZTech. But first, the most logical step would be to go through anything that Konovalov may have left here in LA. Krishnan once again walks downstairs to lab 204, now once again devoid of human life. The sterile tabletops and counters quietly beg him to remove equipment, open drawers, and dig through papers that are frozen back in time to the previous hour, when they were being worked on. Krishnan shuts down the main computer after sending all of Konovalov's paused research to his desktop. He spots another stack of research materials and folders and grabs them, feeling something cold and metallic underneath. Taking the folders off, he finds Konovalov's briefcase. Opening the briefcase, Manjak begins rummaging through pincers, microtubes, vials, notebooks, an old wallet, and other items. He meticulously opens each item, from the notebook to the striped tie. Opening the old crummy wallet, he finds several dollar bills, an expired driver's license, an presumably expired credit card, and a GeneZTech identification card. Krishnan, betting that the card is the key to GeneZTech's facility in Texas, pockets it. Another hour of overturning Konovalov's private items reveals nothing, until something starts ringing softly in the smaller secondary back room. Hurrying towards the sound, Krishnan finds a cellphone in a lockedcloset, which he presumes is also Konovalov's. The phone reads that a call is incoming from 'Natasha'. Ignoring the call, Krishnan opens up the slick razor-thin device and runs through all of Konovalov's past phone calls and messages, looking for something out of the ordinary. _What is out of the ordinary for Viktor? -Sometimes his whole life is. . ._ Krishnan wonders if anything unusual will appear. . . . until he finds a message sent to Konovalov by Konovalov himself. Opening the text, Krishnan scans the time and date- today, right before he had summoned Krishnan down to reveal his business collaboration with NBACC. Did he know he was about to get arrested? Konovalov and everything about him and his company was getting stranger by the second. The text message is a simple set of numbers: 0-7-8-4-5-6-8-2-0. _A set of numbers_ , puzzles Krishnan- _that may be the code for accessing the GeneZTech network-in which case, it would mean that Konovalov knew he was going to be arrested and wants me to retrieve files for him. Or, he was getting the new code for his networks from one of his employees and intended to head back to Texas without telling me. Or its a code for something else. Or any number of other possibilities._

Taking a great chance by assuming that one of his first theories is correct and that the numbers are the key to GeneZTech, Krishnan wastes no time rushing back to his office with Konovalov's phone, collecting his keys, jacket, and other items, before bolting out the door. He walks out of the campus and gets into his car, revving the engine and quickly howling out of the parking lot onto the 405 heading south. Twenty minutes later he barrels across LAX's terminal towards a Ticket Counter. "Hi. Can you get me on the next available flight to Houston?"After a minute, she answers, "We can book you on Continental 202 departing in five hours." "That's fine." Five hours of critical thinking and magazines later, Krishnan is on a flight headed back to Houston.

The trip goes smoothly, leaving Krishnan at George Bush Intercontinental Airport three hours later. Finding his blue Honda Accord safely tucked away where he left it in the parking garage, Krishnan heads towards his friend's business. Approaching eleven o'clock at night, Krishnan wonders for a moment if he should head home and do this tomorrow morning. Realizing that the longer he waits, the longer whatever is in the files is left exposed, and that the night would provide the ideal cover of darkness for entering the laboratory discreetly, Krishnan presses forth. He stops by a gas station to grab a coke for the caffeine, being one who finds coffee repugnant. The caffeine and sugar mix should keep him slightly on edge and alert, as at this time of the night walking, or even driving alone around Houston is generally not the wisest of ideas- especially when your goal is to break in. Gulping down the remainder of the coke, Krishnan continues his journey. Another twenty minutes of driving leaves him slowly entering the parking lot of the dark hexagonal double-story structure that houses GeneZTech. Krishna scans around one hundred-eighty degrees, looking for other suspicious people, police, and dogs. He lowers his headlights, pretending to slowly spin around the building as if he were a lost driver in the middle of the night. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the vicinity, Krishnan parks the car a few meters from the building. He grabs a flashlight, gloves, and Konovalov's company card.

In ten seconds he is at the door, sliding the card down the scanning slot by the glass and steel-crossed door. Red. Krishnan tries again. The light blinks to green. Krishnan grabs the handle and yanks the door open, slipping inside and gently closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. No security systems have sounded, no alarms have gone off, and the interior is as deathly quiet and eerie as a graveyard. Having been inside the building before as a guest, Krishnan conjures up images from his previous trip and mentally maps the rooms. Turning on the flashlight, he slowly begins walking past the reception desk through the corridor. Making a left turn, he walks down a long, dark corridor, ears pricked ready to hear the slightest whisper, eyes darting around for the slightest hint of movement not his own. Walking another ten meters, he reaches a staircase. Tiptoeing as quietly as possible up the stairwell, he rounds a corner and flashes the light down to the end of the corridor along the second floor. Seeing nothing, he makes his way through the near pitch blackness towards Konovalov's office. Remembering his office was in to the left again, Krishnan stops at the door. Looking down at the door knob, he sees a combination lock. _Ahh, thats what its for_. Krishnan punches in 0-7-8-4-5-6-8-2-0, and sure enough the door unlocks with a low _kluck!_ Krishnan walks into the dark office and closes the door.

With a click Konovalov's monitor hums to life, quickly asking Krishnan for a password. Krishnan, praying it works, types in the code again. ~Error.~ _What? It must be!_ He types it in again. ~Error.~ _Shit._ Desperate, he punches in the numbers backwards. ~Welcome Viktor~ With Konovalov's home screen in front of his eyes, Krishnan wastes no time. Searching through the files for Project Deniability, he quickly locates a massive folder with hundreds of items. Copying the information onto his portable flash drive as well as sending himself a copy, Krishnan scans the computer for other relevant files. The download lasts four minutes. Seeing none, and already feeling like somewhat of a thief, Krishnan retrieves his flash, shuts down the computer, and slowly makes his way out of the office. Creeping through the eerie hallway, he gently makes his way back down the stairwell. He misses one step and trips, falling down four steps before catching himself on the side rail. The flashlight drops out of his hand, clinging against the cold tiled floor. _Curses_. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, Krishnan picks up his flashlight and continues towards the entrance. Coming to the door, he opens it slowly, cautiously, taking a look outside as he steps back into the fresh night air. He notices an odd car parked at the far end of the parking lot, but is unable to make out the build. Taking the ten second walk to his own car, he hurriedly unlocks the vehicle and jumps in. He pulls out of the parking lot and rams the accelerator, speeding past trees and around concrete blocks on the way out. Once back onto the double lane main road Krishnan slows down to the speed limit and plots his way home. Forty-five minutes later he finds himself back in the safety of his own home.

Los Angeles, CA

McCarthy had just settled in to his new job and got off the phone with the Mayor of San Diego when the phone rang again. An unknown and gruff voice on the other end asks, "Director McCarthy?" "Yes." "This is Special Agent DiNapolitano calling from FBI Headquarters. I am calling to inquire as to the whereabouts and current assignment of Dr. Krishnan, recently reassigned from CBEID. Is he working under your supervision?" "Uhh, yes, he was requested by the USDA during the initial stages of the EWK-1 investigation. Why?" "I'm not at liberty to discuss details Mr. McCarthy. All I can tell you at the moment is that we have an Agent who would like to talk to you about your relationship with Dr. Krishnan in a few minutes time. He should be there shortly." "Ok." McCarthy, puzzled by the fact that the FBI has shown sudden interest in members of the scientific team, is left with little choice but to go with the tide.

He hangs up and continues to go over reports from several of the relief centers. Soon enough, a tall tanned man in a polished and pressed business suit and sunglasses knocks on his open door. "Special Agent Todd", he introduces himself as McCarthy waves him over to the seat directly in front of him. The Special Agent takes a seat while removing his sunglasses, hanging them on his breast pocket and bringing out a few papers from his briefcase.

"We have reason to believe that Dr. Krishnan is guilty of treason. As such, an arrest warrant has been issued for him.", the Agent states rather robotically. "An arrest warrant?" The man produces a copy of the warrant and places it on McCarthy's desk. "Here it is, authorized by the Dept. of Homeland Security." "We just had Dr. Konovalov arrested about two days ago. Now you want another one of our most important scientists?" "This isn't up to me, sir. I have three Agents heading to UCLA to arrest the Doctor as we speak. How long have you known Dr. Konovalov?" "I didn't know him until two months ago, when we started working together after the outbreak.", McCarthy admits, "for the past two months we have had a cordial business relationship, you might say. I don't interfere in his work, and he doesn't really have much to do with mine." "Did you notice anything suspicious about the man?" "Odd that you ask, I would have rather have been more suspicious of Konovalov, as he _is_ from the former Soviet Union. No, from my experience both of them are ordinary, but brilliant, pioneers in their fields." "What do you know of Dr. Krishnan's private life?" "Not much, honestly. He has family in India, that's about it. Mentioned he met his wife here, at Harvard maybe?." "I see.", the Agent jots down several quick notes, although McCarthy has no doubt that he is taping the conversation out of sight as well. "That should work just fine.", says the agent reassuringly as he finishes off a pen touch. A phone rings, and the agent reaches into his breast pocket to retrieve a small razor-thin device. He listens quickly to the other end of the line, his outwardly demeanor quickly going sour.

He turns away from the cellphone and asks McCarthy coldly, "Krishnan is not present at UCLA. Do you know where he is? He _is_ supposed to be doing his job, isn't he?" McCarthy, surprised, answers, "Yes. . . I suppose, you know, he is supposed to be there. He's there every day." "Find his assistants, and question them.", orders the agent over the phone.

"He's supposed to be working on engineering or breeding a new species of earthworm", explains McCarthy to the un-amused agent, "I don't know why he isn't there. Did you ask Dr. Wang or one of his other associates for his whereabouts?" The agent doesn't reply. However, he quickly takes the advice and asks for Dr. Wang to be brought to the phone. Two whole minutes later, he barks, "Dr. Wang?" The man undoubtedly was jabbed out of his laboratory and dragged to an suitable place for a private cell phone conversation. McCarthy listens in while pretending to look for files in his drawers, even though he could only hear Agent Todd's side of the conversation. "Look, do you know where he is? Very simple. . . Ok. Where did he go? You don't know? Possibly Houston? Where else would he go? CBEID is where he works at normally, University of Texas. . . I see." Todd slams the blade-like phone shut, looking over at McCarthy. "Unusual case. Why would he go to Medical Branch at UTexas?", he asks McCarthy as if he knew the answer. Taking it as a rhetorical question from the Special Agent, McCarthy just gave him a stare before Todd decided to abruptly leave the premises and find out what was going on for himself. Shaking hands with McCarthy, the FBI official makes as quick an exit as he made his entrance.

Soon enough, McCarthy's desk phone rings again. However, this time it happens to be Wang. "Yes?" "Hello? This is Dr. Wang. Sorry to disturb you, Dr., but, what is all this commotion about? We are under investigation for something? First one, then another of our team being arrested? Many of us being questioned, what is going on?" "Relax., everything is fine, it's most likely simply a misunderstanding", reassures McCarthy, trying to dismiss the issue. _The last thing we need is for all the scientists to start getting paranoid that they're next._ Regardless of the poking around the FBI would likely do today amongst the scientists, McCarthy was forced to wonder why two of the best scientists in the country were ordered arrested, and what it might have to do with the secretive agendas and desires of individuals at NBACC and in Washington.

07 CATCH HIM IF YOU CAN

Houston, TX

8:00am. The alarm goes off, sending Krishnan rolling out of bed and into the shower. After a steamy plastic enclosed waterfall and hot breakfast Krishnan dons a business suit and tie, preparing himself for the flight back to Los Angeles. There he intends to go through every GeneZTech document regarding _Project Deniability_ and look for clues which would help FEMA and the Feds halt the progression of EWK-1. He checks himself in the mirror once more, splashes some cologne and goes into his car.

Driving back to Houston's George Bush International Airport, Krishnan parks his blue Honda in the multistoried parking garage for multi-week parking. Taking out his dark brown suitcase out of the trunk, he stretches the handle and heads to the Shuttle pick up for passengers heading to the terminal. A brisk fifteen minutes later the Shuttle leaves Krishnan at the entrance of Terminal C. Krishnan heads towards the Continental Airlines counters, picks up his boarding pass that he reserved yesterday afternoon online, and gets on an escalator taking up to the second floor to the Monorail, heading for Terminal A.

His phone rings. "Hello?" "Hi, Dr. Krishnan? Its Wang. Its urgent." "What is it?" "Where are you?" "About to board my flight back, Wang, what could be so urgent now?" "You're a wanted man, Doctor." "What do you mean, a wanted man?", asks Krishnan, paling. "I had a call from the FBI asking whether you were here, followed by several agents who came here looking for you. I don't know why they want you, but they're after you." Krishnan's gut knots. Gulping, silently doing a breathing exercise to keep himself from breaking out in sweat, Krishnan thinks quickly. _I have to get back to LA. No, wait, I can review this material anywhere. Someone must know I'm out of LA, and about to review Konovalov's records on Project Deniability. Someone wants to stop me from looking at this. But who?_ "I need to talk to you and the rest of the team. Keep up the team until my return." "When will you be back?" "As soon as possible."

Krishnan, now knowing someone wants him. . . . needs him behind bars, discreetly ditches his cell phone in the nearest trash can. _I can't get on this flight._ He glances at the large lines waiting to get past security, and weighs his options. He quickly figures that since the alert had gone up recently for him, it would be a major risk trying to board his flight, as security may now be actively watching for him. The best option would be to try to talk to Onassis directly, get himself cleared, and review the flash as soon as an opportunity presents itself. Since his laptop is in his suitcase which was already handed over to the airport personnel, some other anonymous computer would have to be located.

Krishnan, with his bag in his hand, reverses his step and turns back to the escalator. Walking as nonchalantly as possible while aware that security personnel may now be interested in approaching him, he keeps his glances casual as he surveys the terminal scene, suddenly a much more hostile environment. Glad that he didn't step into the monorail to Terminal A, he glides from the escalator out into the stream of people heading towards their respective flights. Nearly colliding with middle aged woman on his way out, he smiles briskly and apologizes quickly. She flutters slightly, ignores him, and continues on her way.

He sees three security officers by the closest doors, and chooses to continue walking to the next entrance. Many passengers flock by, taking little to no notice of him. He exits the building at the second entrance and walks casually over to the shuttle pick up. Leaning slightly, he takes out a pair of sunglasses and puts them on. Even in winter the Texan weather will allow people, at times, to get away with wearing sunglasses without being out of the ordinary. Dozens of people walk out of and into cars, buses, and limos pulling into the large U shaped road hugging the terminal built for incoming traffic. Krishnan is pleasantly surprised when after five minutes the shuttle arrives. Krishnan walks in, noticing another two police strolling through the crowds of arriving passengers. The Shuttle, nearly empty, whisks him from the masses of people at the terminal to the less crowded outlying parking lot.

He steps out, taking a look at the passengers waiting for the shuttle before walking past them and heading through the vast parking lot towards his car. No trouble, he thinks to himself. Getting in, he drives out of the airport complex heading south towards downtown Houston. _Find a pay phone, make a quick call, try to reach Onassis._ _If that fails, talk to McCarthy._ Krishnan drives down on the southbound Toll road, paying close attention to any police cars on the road. Even though they are probably doing nothing more than hunting speeders, Krishnan is taking no chances. Disinclined to be apprehended when he knows himself to be free of any wrongdoing, Krishnan decides to make it to Konovalov's house later in the day if conditions permit. He keeps an eye on his speedometer- as the last thing he would want now is to be pulled over for a simple violation such as breaking the speed limit.
He pulls into downtown's traffic soon enough, the brunt of morning rush-hour having dissipated by ten o'clock. Krishnan pulls the Accord into a supermarket parking lot. Getting out, he walks around the block, checking out the CVS, Pharmacy, clothing stores and passerby. He finally finds a phone booth a hundred meters away and walks towards it. Clinking in several quarters he picks up the phone and dials Onassis's number. The line puts him on hold. After waiting patiently for two minutes a machine answers, prompting Krishnan to drop the phone and dial McCarthy instead.

Krishnan is rewarded when McCarthy does, indeed, pick up the phone. "Its Dr. Krishnan." "Ah, Dr. Krishnan, I see. You know, I'm technically supposed to have you arrested the moment I see you." "Yes, about that- what for? By whose authority? I did nothing wrong." "I'll believe you, for now. . . but I'll need details if you expect my help with this. Where are you now?" "I can't tell you." "I need to know. And what are you doing there?" "Look. . .EWK-1 was designed by Dr. Konovalov's company, GeneZTech, and someone had him taken away three days ago because of that. Now someone wants me out of the way too." "Out of the way?" "Yes. The project was codenamed _Deniability_ , and was procured by NBACC secretively, confidentially. However, I have managed to download all of Dr. Konovalov's files, including all dealings with NBACC, onto a flash drive. I have it with me. I also think that someone in Defense knows this and wants to prevent me from looking at the files. I can't say more." "I see." Krishnan hears McCarthy let out a breath of thought over the phone. "I see. It could be a mistake on someone's part, rather than some paranoid conspiracy. Either way, we need to find out. I'll try to shake up some sympathy, get that arrest warrant called off. You on the other hand, stay low for now. And try to send me those files so I can have a look at them as well." "Ok. I'll see if I can get them to you today."

He hangs up. _I need an internet cafe._ He walks over to a grocery store and asks them for the nearest place where he could access the internet. Getting two good answers from the store clerk, he gets back in his Honda and drives to the first place. Walking in he asks for 'the Net' and is waved over to one of the terminals in the back of the store. Logging in, he quickly sets up a new GMail account. Plugging in the flash drive, he uploads all of the _Deniability_ files and sends them in two separate batches to McCarthy. He then types in a quick letter to his wife, quickly explaining that he is wrongfully wanted and not to expect him back for a while. Finally, he decides to ditch his car and rent a car instead, quickly finding several rent-a-cars scattered throughout the downtown. Writing their locations down, he rapidly logs off, pays the fare, and returns to his car.

_What now? I'll drive to California if I have to, but I should tell Konovalov's family that he is ok and will be out soon. In person._ He decides to head for Konovalov's place, to rest for the night. Firstly, he drives into a drive-through to get some late lunch, parking in the parking lot to take his time eating it. Then he starts the sixty minute drive across Houston to , where he hopes there will be no police to arrest him the moment he enters Konovalov's driveway.

Soon enough Krishnan finds a parking lot near one a Hertz rental. He leaves his car and walks over to the establishment. Refusing to use a credit card, he pays for a week's usage and is soon given a dull gray Toyota. Driving out with the new car, Konovalov makes his way onto Interstate 45 towards Dallas. A good seventy minutes later he reaches Konovalov's large suburban home. He creeps up the street once, driving two miles below the posted 30 mile speed limit, on the lookout for snoopers, plainclothes officers, or anyone who could possibly report him to the FBI. Seeing no one, he parks the car by the sidewalk curb and climbs out, walks casually up to the front door and rings the doorbell.

No one answers. He rings it again, waiting for another minute. A busty fortyish blonde, on the shorter side and slightly squarish of face, opens the door. As expected, it is Natasha, Konovalov's partner for several years whom Krishnan had met on a few occasions. "Hey, VK.", she greets him, nonchalantly. Whether she is surprised or not by his sudden visit doesn't show. "Natasha". She gives him a quick, distantly friendly hug. "What is it? It has to do with Viktor, hasn't it?", she asks in a moderate Russian/East European accent. He never figured what country exactly she was from, but assumed Russia as well. "Yes." She invites him in, motioning with the hands. "I can't stay too long, have they asked you about my whereabouts?" "No. I just saw it on the news though, and about Viktor! Oh, I don't know what to do!" "Nothing.", he tries to reassure her, "there's nothing you can do at the moment. I'm working on it. He's not guilty of anything, you have my word on that.. .did you talk to him?" "Oh, yes.", she replies sadly, "he called three days ago. Said he was being put in a federal prison, in Maryland, for a while. Only said it had to do with his work. She sobbed a bit. "Can I get you something?" "Some drinks and snacks would be great."

She goes into the kitchen, leaving Krishnan pacing around the living room, pondering his next move. _Simple, LA_. _Maybe McCarthy got the memo, but I need a way of contacting him. Not from here, though._ Natasha returns with a two drinks, a box of snack bars, and a sandwich. "What have they got you for?", she asks conversationally. "Taking secrets and keeping them for myself", he replies humorously, trying to lighten the mood, "Basically the same reasons as Viktor. It is certainly related to what is happening around the world right now. But don't worry too much, we'll have a permanent fixture soon." "I certainly hope so, have you been reading any of the news from around the world? They said squirrels, birds are now dying out because of a lack of food, the poor creatures! Oh, you just have to do something!"

"We are", he replies soothingly. "I need to get moving." "Oh, stay a little longer, no one is moving you from here." "Has anyone come by looking for me?" "No." "Which means they probably will soon. One thing, Natasha, I'd like to borrow a few hundred dollars, I may need it and I don't have that much cash on me. I'll return it whenever I get the chance." "Ok, sure, VK." "And one last thing- Can I borrow your car? They most likely already have mine under the radar." "My car. . .?", she goes over it for a second before replying, "sure why not. I suppose I can live without if for a week or so. What about your rental?" "Return it." She cocks her eyebrow, questioningly, before heading out of the room, returning a short while later with another box of snacks and the cash that Krishnan needs for a relatively anonymous trip west.

After taking the cash and food items down to Natasha's small European-like car, he hugs Natasha good-bye and tells her not to worry about Konovalov. _Hell, maybe she's seeing some other guy right now._ He glances at her once more before brushing the thought away and driving off. Eager to beat rush hour traffic, he presses the accelerator into I-45, heading northwards to merge with I-35 four hours later. Unfortunately, the small Fiat's performance on the road isn't what may be expected of sports cars of similar size, but Krishnan accustoms himself to the new vehicle. The road northwards ends in Oklahoma, where he intends to overstay for the night before continuing westwards through New Mexico and Arizona to reach California within two days. By then he hopes this would have been cleared up and he would be able to return peacefully to the lab without hassle.

Krishnan continues driving. Night falls, traffic dies down, and he continues on the road. He stops by a small town to see if he could access his e-mail. Finding a motel that allows him to use it, in exchange for a small fee, he briefly sends a message to McCarthy inquiring details of his 'wanted' status. Getting back in the car, he continues his odyssey northwards, eventually driving into Oklahoma's outskirts slightly after midnight. Finding a reasonable-looking motel, he checks in with the very bored looking attendant at the desk. The attendant soon waves him off with a key to one of the rooms. Krishnan finds himself in a small, yellow- painted, slightly dusty single-bed room with a tiny cubicle of a toilet. Making do, he settles down his bag, takes a long drink from a bottle of water, and soon finds himself asleep in no time.

Rome, Italy

It was becoming obvious that a conference would be hard to come by in two weeks. Some countries were not even concerned with the spread of EWK-1, as the current outbreak was so far from their borders that it posed no direct threat to them at all. Or in other, more special cases, some even expressed a secretive, suppressed glee over the fact that their rivals and/or enemies were being infected by a massive agricultural plague while they were living unscathed. Manjak discussed the proposition with Maurice, who finally supported it enthusiastically after three days of thinking about it. By then it was already clear to Manjak that the issue at hand would have to be discussed by the United Nations in New York.

But before that could happen a realistic proposal would have to be drafted and presented to the General Assembly- a realistic idea of countering the changes that were seen as very nearly unstoppable by many around the globe. At the moment, Manjak was just now stepping into a room filled with premier civil engineers, biologists, ecologists, geologists and even a philosophers. Their came from all corners of the world, from national agricultural ministries to private engineering firms to Universities like Cornell, Oxford, and Tsinghua, many personally invited by Manjak. Manjak walks into the room, shaking hands with everyone around before talking. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I have gathered us all here this week, to find common ground between our ideas, so that we may find a solution to our planet's before we run out of time. Many of you have submitted proposals to the FAO, which we will discuss. To conclude in brief, none of us are leaving this building, until we have a main plan and a contingency that could be submitted to the Security Council." Heads look around at the Deputy-Director's strong words, but he waves a sturdy gaze around the room to make everyone notice he wasn't joking. "This may be our one chance to get a viable, politically acceptable plan before the entire planetary ecosystem becomes wasted."

Manjak leads the first round of discussions, slowly developing common ground from a myriad of conflicting views. What becomes apparent is that many propose hydroponics and aeroponics as the means of solving the key question: growing food without a natural ecosystem. As to producing any significant quantities, the solutions seem to be the quaint ideas of "urban farming" and "farmscrapers"; both ideas that contravene traditional ideas of farming, which is usually done in rural, horizontally inclined areas. A few argue that the quality of food will decline after such new, artificial methods are introduced, arguing over the differences between meat, poultry, and dairy products coming from "industrial" versus "free-range" farms. Following the same line of though, arguments are made that criticize how aeroponics grows plants in a medium that may not provide the same quantity and quality of nutrients as plants grow in soil. One engineer makes a counter by remarking that plants have been grown successfully in space, and there are plans to produce food in space for longer space voyage.

_Let's not take this discussion into space. . ._ Another starts proposing the use of nanoscale sized machines to mimic the action of earthworms in soil, recycling the materials. "Hold on," interrupts Manjak, "Are these nanoworms even built yet? Does a prototype exist, does any company have plans of even experimenting with such devices over the next six months? Or is this merely a hypothesis that somehow we can artificially mimic soil regeneration with current nanotechnology?" The engineer who spoke turns his thick glasses in Manjak's direction, replying, "A Korean conglomerate has built a prototype. Unfortunately the tests so far have been far from satisfying specifications and objectives, and the nanobots are, of course, not self-replicating. The company has run tests with the nanoscale devices using them _in lieu_ of earthworms in On-site organic digesters and waste processors." "Out of the question. I've read the test reviews, the design has far too many flaws, is less than 20% efficient compared to worms of comparable size, and cannot be self-replicating for control purposes, even if we had that level of technology", answers Manjak, "Quite honestly, we will not solve this problem with a mere leap of technological in a specific field. Rather, a massive, worldwide investment and construction and development of infrastructure that supports high density high yield agriculture in a human controlled setting. We cannot let freak accidents like this spread to every corner of the globe. The future of agriculture, the basis of civilization, is to be compartmentalized. _Farmscraping_ allows for effective compartmentalization, whether by block, by city, or by region, should something occur."

"So that's it, then", an engineer from Japan lauds. But, that is _not_ it. Debate begins afresh with dozens of people expressing their concerns over such a plan, from construction sites to environmental impact to funding. Where do we build these new cities of plenty? Tear down swaths of old, deteriorating neighborhoods? How will this impact the cities? What could possibly make people wish to live next to fifty-story chicken farms? How will cities deal with the increased electrical demand, movement of waste, or cope with the smell of said chicken farm? And who's going to pay for this? _A legitimate question_ , think Manjak. A collective global fund managed by the UN? Individual nations? Will there be a supervisory body to watch over each nations' progress and guide over previously agreed upon specifications and building codes? The Engineers viciously begin a debate with scientists, philosophers, and public policy experts over the implications that a worldwide 'farmscraper plan' would have.

Five hours later, Manjak walks into his office with no conclusive consensus in his hands. He calls Bao, who in Geneva for a conference. "I need WFP getting me some backup for a 'Farmscraper plan' of sorts." "WFP? You are supposed to be responsible for strategic goals, Trip." "But if WFP can publicly state that this plan will alleviate major problems in a few years time." "No plan is guaranteed to succeed. Especially one on such a massive scale as the one you propose. Besides, demand always increases to catch up with supply in the long run. This is a basic principle of economics, and applies to our field as well, Trip. Unfortunately, in many regards." "But with this, we can control the supply, thereby keeping demand in check." "Many may argue that that's a bit totalitarian."

"Its a problem, but to be considered later when we have a more foreseeable and stable future. Right now the planet needs this." "Have you talked to the Secretary General yet? If you can get his office to approve it and support it." "I've send the Secretariat the preliminary details, I have a conference scheduled with them and the board tomorrow." "Well, convince them and it will go a long way by the time you can bring this to the public and the national governments." "I will, trust me." Manjak and Bao part ways as Manjak heads over to Director Maurice's office to give him an update. After that he returns to the conference room, where the rest of the night continues the all-out debate over the future of world farming.

Los Angeles

The GeneZTech records of the company's involvement soon found their way, encrypted, through the fiber optical ethernet to McCarthy's screen. McCarthy spent hours going over them the morning he received them. Quickly he understood that there were many loose knots that needed to be tied up.

He immediately calls Medina at NBACC. "Hello?", answers Medina. "Hello, its McCarthy from the USDA. Are you aware that there is a warrant out for Dr. Krishnan's arrest, and that someone from either DoD or NBACC authorized it?" "No. I wasn't aware of this, we are actually sharing information with Dr. Krishnan from our collaboration with GeneZTech. He is our most best connection with your scientists over there in Los Angeles." "Yes, well, it seems someone is accusing him of treason and now since no one knows his whereabouts here we are being distracted from our jobs by the FBI looking for him. Could it honestly be a case of mistaken identity? Someone may have accidentally placed Krishnan as the suspect in place of someone else?" "I really don't think so," negates Medina, "I can also assure you that talk to the FBI headquarters, but I am fairly certain that their facts are straight. Their reasons are their reasons.", replies Medina melancholically. "What about the Department of Defense, who runs NBACC." "They have no connection with Dr. Krishnan, or with GeneZTech, I'm afraid." "Ok. Thanks for your time." "Anytime."

McCarthy hangs up. _Why is talking with him always a dead end? No useful information at all!_

McCarthy decides to play the next card, and calls up his boss in Washington, getting the line through after five minutes. "Its McCarthy here. There is an arrest warrant out for Dr. Krishnan. We just had Dr. Konovalov arrested for some similar charge, I was wondering why are our scientists suddenly being taken away?" "I wasn't even aware of this. Really? Under whose authority? ", answers the Secretary of Agriculture. McCarthy, surprised to hear that even Onassis doesn't know of his leading scientific cadre's disappearance, explains the unusual situation to his boss. "Huh, very unusual. Send me those files, I want a look." "Absolutely." "Do you know where Dr. Krishnan is, at the moment?", asks Onassis curiously. "No, sir, I do not." "Hmm. . .that's just fine. Make sure you send me those files, we could make a case out of this. It smells fishy, and I see no reason not to take this to court; the Supreme Court if necessary. Meanwhile, I'll make sure we got those two doctors back in your town in no time."

Hanging up the phone, McCarthy puts on his sports jacket before heading to the UCLA campus.

Albuquerque, NM

Racing through the sun scorched desert of New Mexico, a small Fiat exits a highway ramp to merge with lane road traffic heading into the state's largest city. Albuquerque, a small metropolis of gleaming mix of pueblo and postmodern architecture, is the first major city after Oklahoma for Krishnan's drive west. _Finally, a city after driving through cactus land!_ Needing a rest, nourishment, refreshment, and anonymous internet access he heads to downtown, soon finding a strip mall that looks busy enough to serve his needs.

Finding one, he gets lunch before finding a store with available internet-for-hire. He checks his e-mail and finds what he is looking for: McCarthy's response. _'There may be a case pending here. If your innocence is proven in court you will be free to go. Working with SecAgr to get to the bottom of this. Until finished, stay low. PS could take a month.'_ Krishnan reads it over. _A month? I'm not going to jail, but jJust how am I supposed to stay on the run for a month? Or longer?_ Krishnan starts rethinking his plan over in his head. Firstly, it would be difficult to stay hidden in Los Angeles as too many people would recognize him if they saw him. He would have to hide somewhere where very few people would recognize him, where he knows very few people, and a place with a small police presence.

_Or, where would an Indian-American look non-conspicuous? Hmmm._ He quickly thinks up of a radical idea. One that would place him far away from the pursuing federal agents. It would require some risk, but once past the initial screening he should be home free for a while. Soon, he finds a phone booth to call a close relative to buy himself a special ticket. A few minutes later, the transaction is complete. Krishnan pays the bill and walks out for some fresh air. Seeing two police officers walking casually across the street, he walks towards into a Deli to buy a newspaper. Buying it, he sits down in a small park to begin reading the day's news: cases of a war for uncontaminated soil started in Central America, several demonstrations violently dispersed in Central Asia, massive refugee crises throughout eastern and southeast Asia. Almost no governments try to work together or cooperate even though they are facing the same exact problem. The Opinion section blames the FAO for not doing enough to combat the spread, yet names a Manjak for spearheading efforts at getting some sort of 'natural barriers' up against the virus. _Scorched earth against EWK-1? There's an idea._ Seeing the idea as more than just a strange, disrupting but potentially useful afterthought he rushes back into the cafe to forward the online-article to several key people in California.

After doing do he returns to the car to drive himself to the sea. This time on the eastern seaboard, to board a month-long world cruise that his nearly identical first cousin purchased himself a boarding pass for.

08 EXTINCTION LEVEL EVENT

Location Unknown -Six weeks later

Having disembarked from his voyage around the world recently, Krishnan uses his remaining cash to stay at a small, discreet motel. Over the past month and a half he has developed several new coding sequences that, he hopes, could be used to create new earthworm hybrids. So far, the news has shown no luck in either creating new species that may survive or finding a species possibly immune to EWK-1, such as the Giant Palouse.

Massive fishing efforts have become visible, as fishermen and companies race to overfish what remaining food there is in the oceans in a race against other competitors. Trawlers and fishing vessels have been overly abundant and active in every port visited by Krishnan during his world odyssey. With complete disregard for maintaining small, viable populations of fish and other marine organisms for future use, oceans have been overharvested as a response to the decline of food from land based agriculture.

Logging in to his daily email check, Krishnan finds a message from sec@mail.usda.gov. < _Court Case # 3589 McCarthy V. NBACC successful. You are cleared of all charges. Return to post ASAP. >_ Krishnan reads it again. _Really? Yes! I need a ticket back._ He logs off and begins packing shirts, socks, and electronics into his faithful travelling suitcase. Then another thought hits him.

_Who was representing NBACC? Are they still running around? What was Medina's role in this, we lost contact but I need to talk to that guy, and find what skeletons he has in his closet. Need to talk to McCarthy about Case # 3589, this isn't over yet._ The first thing to do is buy a ticket to Los Angeles. He hails a cab, drives over to the Amtrak station and buys himself a first class ticket. Two hours later the train pulls out of the station.

As the train accelerates to its high speed of over 200mph Krishnan looks out the window, a point of observation on the withering landscape. Trees no longer as green and sturdy as before, piles of detritus lying in wait to be decomposed amongst the underbrush. As vast tracts of farmland come into view, he almost visualizes the grey brown taint that has corrupted previously bright golden, yellow, and green crops. A slowly decaying landscape that reminisces of a slowly peeling painting flashes by the rest of the voyage.

The train pulls into Los Angeles Central Station, and Krishnan makes his way to City Hall in the still alive and bustling downtown. He takes the elevator up and walks into McCarthy's office. Seeing no one around, he waits for a bit, poking at his paperwork. Soon he is rewarded by the sight of McCarthy talking to some official through the glass wall. Catching his eye, McCarthy soon breaks off the conversation and barges jauntily towards Krishnan. "Finally", exclaims McCarthy, "You're back. For a while I thought you would have to hide forever."

"Why?", Krishnan wants to get right down to the point, "and whom?"

"Who wanted me out of the way? I want to know!" Krishnan starts becoming agitated, restless to get updated on what had passed in his absence. "Calm down, man, you're going to work up an unnecessary sweat!", McCarthy pushes the doctor down into a chair. "Now, listen closely. The Secretary believes that something fishy may be going on at NBACC, trying to destroy evidence of Project Deniability, that sort of thing. So, he's pulled a few strings and re-invoked your security clearance that you had when you were part of, what was it, an advisory board?" "The Oversight Committee", corrects Krishnan. "Onassis, has actually ordered you to do that as part of your next assignment. I believe he intends to visit the facility himself as well." "Surprising. What does the DoD have to say about that?" "I don't know the details. Just get yourself on a plane to Washington and get to the bottom of this. The Court only had you declared not-guilty, but we weren't able to get much information during the proceedings. GeneZTech assets have been frozen. And there is an ongoing internal investigation into the Oversight Committee as well." "Good to know. And the Director of NBACC?" "Also under investigation. It's even made it to the news."

"What about our research? Any news?" "None. No remedies, no new species, no development. Although, there is a huge discussion going on in the UN, about some plan to re-structure our entire way of producing food. . . who knows. . " "I have been watching the news, McCarthy. I wasn't living in a cave this past month. But that's a discussion for later. I think we should follow the plan proposed by that Manjak guy, if we can agree on it. . . . meanwhile, I will get going." Krishnan walks out, managing to catch an afternoon flight to Washington Dulles. Then an ugly thought crosses his mind. _What if the Secretary of Defense wanted him out of the way?_ _Project Deniability must have had his approval to be even considered, right?_ The thought kept Krishnan from even remotely enjoying the flight even more than everything else happening. _Things have only just begun._

UN Headquarters, New York City

In the cavernous hall of the General Assembly, Bao Feng takes a seat behind the rows of assembled delegates. General Secretary Albert Haartaagnan had finally decided to address the global epidemic of EWK-1 and had called a emergency special session of the general assembly to address the world as a whole. Glancing behind towards the rear of the hall, Bao takes in the multitudes of reporters and news crews from over 180 nations gathered, preparing their cameras for the Secretary General's speech. The majority of the directors of the UN's organizations and specialized agencies are present, though as Bao looks around she notices that Trip Manjak is conspicuously absent. During the last month 'Trip' had received nearly continual media coverage for his relentless global travels supporting the fight against the EWK-1 advance and his personal taking command of all the FAO and WFP efforts around the world.

Major topics that were expected to be covered in the address included the global response to the environmental threat posed by EWK-1; the implications of the effects of the virus for future generations; and the development of new sustainable measures to be taken to ensure continued agricultural productivity, especially in those countries hardest hit by the epizootic. Many countries were experiencing heightened levels of civil unrest, social chaos, and general lack of authority due to the perceived inability of their respective governments to provide for the needs of their populations.

Bao looks around again. A dozen more delegates and aides file into the chamber, but Manjak is not amongst them. Sitting in the rear of the hall, Bao is favored with a view of the entire assembly, comprising all 192 member states, non-affiliated members and partially-recognized states sitting to Bao's right, and directly in front the main podium for the Assembly President, Secretary General, and speaker. Above the podium is a giant wooden sculpture of the UN symbol, the world in a wreath of olive branches symbolizing peace. As she looks towards the podium the President of the Assembly makes his way towards the podium followed by Albert Hartaagnaan. The President calls for order over the din of hundreds of human voices chattering amongst themselves. Bao, despite being a regular at UN meetings, cannot help but remember her classes from elementary school in Wuhan, China, where the teacher would similarly call on the assembled students to quiet down and pay attention to the front of the room. The President calls for order again, this time to a much quieter audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you The Secretary General, Albert Hartaagnaan." Hartaagnaan takes the podium as a hush descends upon the chamber. Hartaagnan sweeps his gaze across the hundreds of assembled delegates, taking in the eye of each and every man and woman in the hall.

"Honorable representatives and delegates of your countries, Ladies and Gentlemen; my fellow human beings. During the past six months, we have witnessed an extraordinary event, one unprecedented in our lifetimes take place here on our planet. We have all bore witness to this series of events, with mixtures of despair, anxiety, and hopelessness cloud of vision of the future as a result of it. We have all broken down, into petty groups defined by mere lines on a map, and mere names, trying in vain to find stop the catastrophe from spreading onto our land. We have failed in that regard."

Hartaagnan takes another look around the hall, now having all eyes focused on his. his tone drops to a woeful note, "The terrifying reality that began six months ago started due to the irregular and immoral secretive actions of a specific member state, in a unclear and unprovoked attempt to find yet more destructive ways of sowing malevolence and discontent amongst its perceived enemies. While this covert program was already in breach of numerous international protocols and treaties, the governance of this state failed to provide adequate security to prevent malcontents from tampering with the biological weapon they had secretly designed. As a result of this negligence, this weapon had been released unintentionally upon our unsuspecting planet, putting the lives of billions in jeopardy." Hartaagnan pauses as general disorder erupts on the assembly floor, many accusations and a few less-than-polite words being tossed between the delegates, particularly in the direction of the American representative. "Order!", calls out the President in a booming voice. The chatter, bickering, and arguments dies down as quickly as it had started. Hartaagnaan begins anew.

"Regardless and irrespective of the causes and sources of this catastrophe, the fact remains that it is now all over the world. This is not a problem for one, or two, or ten nations to resolve- rather, it is one that the world must face as a whole. Each and every one of us is currently, or will be affected by the apparent extinction of the earthworms sooner or later. This is an extinction level event that will seep down to touch us all, and as such we must band together as brothers to put aside our differences and make real groundwork against the forthcoming consequences." Utter silence reigns in the deathly still hall as the audience holds its breath, waiting on Hartaagnan's every word. All the news and media of the world over focus on the General Secretary's grim face as he continues speaking:

"The lowly earthworm as we know it is nearly an extinct species at the moment, and all those species on the planet, _including us_ , that are conjoined with it in the fragile balance of the global ecosystem are in danger as well. That fragile balance has been terribly unbalanced, even more so than the damage we have wrought on it for the past hundred years. Our forests are dying, our savannahs are drying up, and our farmland is a fraction of what it used to be in quality and quantity. Many species of animals, from the Monarch Butterfly to the Golden Eagle, which were not in danger before are now at risk. Worst still, the multitudes of plants that comprise our diverse biospheres across the globe, from Indonesia to India to Panama, are equally if not more so at risk of extinction. The potential gene pool, as well as the medicinal and nutritional qualities of these flora may be lost to us forever."

"Friends, Humans, Countrymen of all the nations of the world. . . . we are facing a global crossroads. . . an _extinction level event._ It is possible that we, as a race, . . as a species, may also be dragged down the maelstrom before us. If we are to survive this, it will take the willing and voluntary collaborative effort of every government, every organization, every state, and every individual- only together can we steer our world past this catastrophe and head once again for a brighter future. I implore you to put aside your petty differences and insignificant bickering and join together so that we can get a clear and concise consensus on the path that we must take -to preserve ourselves as a species. There is no turning back, there is no staying in place, we must go forward together and as one. Only then will we survive."

Hartaagnaan pauses for effect before continuing. "It is my great honor to now introduce to you our new Director for the Food and Agricultural Organization, Dr. Trevor Manjak, who has been one of our most instrumental and pivotal figures in this struggle since its discovery."

Hartaagnaan steps away from the podium, while Manjak stands up from a chair he was sitting in nearby and walks to the podium. The two men shake hands to hundreds of cameras in the background before Manjak takes the podium.

"Normally, I would begin by saying _'Good Evening'_. That would not seem appropriate today since, as we all know, it is not a _good_ evening." This remark serves in purpose in lifting up, if ever so slightly, the somber and heavy weight that had descended upon the chamber . "As you all well know, we are facing a grave threat, an existential threat to be precise. The FAO, working in conjunction with governments and agencies around the world, has come together with a plan to ensure the continued adequate supply of food to sustain the _current_ world population. By _current_ , we mean the 6,5 billion of us that are on the planet right now. We can no longer afford to continue our population growth with such a limited resource base, especially with the gruesome conditions imposed upon us during these last six months. "

"Agriculture, throughout human history, has revolved and evolved from the basics of farming. Using the soil to grow and cultivate crops for consumption. However, this process, on which all of us are dependent upon for survival, is now declining across our world because of the worms' extinction. Soil nutrients, processes, and general health that is maintained by the earthworms will no longer be able to be maintained."

"To counter this, we are proposing the World Agriculture Stabilization Resolution, Number 1555, which mandates all member states to introduce a radical new food production system based primarily on vertical farming and hydroponics. Hydroponics and Aeroponics, the methods of growing produce without the use of soil, will have to be increased worldwide by thousands of percentage points in order to sustain our population. Conventional farming is no longer an option. Nor will the deforestation of forests and subsequent expansion of farmland be an adequate solution. Rather, the usage of innovative new technologies is the only viable solution to this catastrophe."

"Governments will individually manage and fund their respective projects for developing national aeroponic and hydroponic farming; however, the United Nations Security Council in conjunction with the FAO will mandate quotas based upon national resource consumption and population of the respective countries. The UN will also help organize transnational engineering, construction, and planning teams for countries that do not have the necessary workforce for these projects. Timetables for the implementation of the Stabilization Resolution will revolve in periods of two years, and it is hoped that progress will commence as quickly and efficiently as possible to alleviate further pain and suffering."

Manjak pauses again, taking a good look around the chamber, seeing mixed reactions on the faces of the hundreds of delegates, and making sure to make eye contact with his fastened audience before continuing his speech.

"A worldwide shift to aeroponic and hydroponic farming will do nothing to alleviate the loss of hundreds of species worldwide that are affected by their ecosystem disruption. However, to preserve the huge gene pool that many of our rainforests, jungles, and other biodiversity hotspots represent, the governments of Brazil, Ecuador, Peru, Indonesia, and India, have already agreed to a gene bank program which will store the genetic information of all the world's species for future generations. We are currently working to first invite all _megadiverse_ countries to become involved in the program, and then the rest of the world. The program with the United Nations will also entail the extensive collection and categorization of numerous species in controlled greenhouse and zoological environments. These agreements will supplement previous agreements outlined in the Convention on Biological Diversity and the Cartagena Protocols on Biosafety."

"Resolution 1555, due to the special nature of the case, is to be voted on by the General Assembly in order to be binding for all member states. The Security Council has nominally approved the Resolution, and it has already been approved by the FAO. In order to be binding, Resolution 1555 will need a supermajority here in the General Assembly."

"I urge each and every one of you to merely remember one thing when voting on this Resolution- _we are all in this together_. If one of you follows up a plan and your neighbor does not, an imbalance is created. If some of us pool resources together while others do not, inequality is generated. With the potential future of our species at stake here, please vote for the best interests of everyone as a whole, with no preference for localities or miniscule differences. That is all."

The usual applause after a speech is given after Manjak makes it clear that he has concluded, although the tone is quieter and even more caliginous than possibly ever in the history of the assembly's meetings. The President takes the podium again, stating, "I shall now put to the vote draft Resolution 1555. Please keep in mind that we will be using electronic voting as opposed to a show of hands for this vote".

The representatives speak through their headsets, retranslating the speech from English to dozens of other languages as some of them try to go over Hartaagnaan and Manjak's speeches over again. Most representatives, however, will have already received instructions on voting procedures by their respective governments. At the front of the great hall, Manjak sits impatiently with himself, hoping that most the governments follow logic and vote a clear **YES** to the resolution. A large, new screen behind Manjak, but easily visible to the rest of the hall, turns on, ready to display voting results to the representatives, the media, and the world beyond. After ten minutes of short reconsideration by the assembly, the President calls for the vote to begin. Tallies start lining up on the giant screen, with green Y representing affirmatives; red N for negatives, and a white A for abstention. The tally starts to take count. Surprising Bao, red tallies manage to keep up with green tallies in numbers during the first minute. After 100 tallies, Bao notices Manjak and the Secretary-General start to look worried. Several countries even abstain, which strikes Bao as something completely illogical at this stage. The system does not count abstentions as votes due to the "present and voting" system of vote counting, which only counts 'Yeses' and 'No's'. Another minute later 150 votes are counted, the ratio is now 72:70 in favor of _Yes_. It ends shortly thereafter with 93:80 vote ratio, which becomes readily apparent that it is not enough for the supermajority necessary for it to be binding to all countries. The President throws a strongly disappointing glance in Manjak and Hartaagnaan's direction before looking back forward to address the assembly.

"Motion to pass Resolution 1555 is not passed. Supermajority is not achieved, and Resolution 1555- the World Agricultural Stabilization Plan- will not be passed with a simple majority according to the Security Council resolution."

"I shall now call on those representatives who wish to speak in explanation of vote. I should like to remind representatives that explanations of vote are limited to 10 minutes and should be made by delegations from their seats", states the President. From the back, Bao notices Manjak's face has turned to a sullen gray, visibly unhappy about the defeat of the resolution. However, there is nothing she can do about it at the moment. Not surprisingly, in response to the President's call for individual explanations, a host of nations rise up to defend their voting position, particularly the ones that voted negatively to the resolution. The representative of one of the Middle Eastern countries begins his rebuttal to the Stabilization Plan. Bao listens intently as he rattles off a long list of grievances including infringement of sovereignty, massive costs burdened by people from third world countries, political dominance by the Security Council onto smaller nations, lack of property for construction of such facilities and general infeasibility. The representative receives a mixture of applause and silence from the rest of the audience at the conclusion of his thirty-five minute explanation. Bao privately acknowledges merit to some of his arguments but overall considers the timing of their delivery to be terrible and detrimental to the UN as a whole. Seven more representatives then takes turns defending their reasons for their vote, two aggressively support the plan while the remaining five back the first speaker's comments. After three hours of non-stop rebuttals, criticism, and rebukes the President calls for a recess. As the delegates swarm out of the arena to call their governments, discuss the issue with their colleagues, or merely go the bathroom, the area outside the General Assembly Hall is crowded with pinstripe suited people from all the corners of the globe. Bao walks over, and after greeting several UN co-workers she spots Manjak in discussion with the Japanese representative.

Bao Feng makes her way through the sea to her 'technical' boss. Manjak notices her approaching, and quickly excuses himself from his conversation with the Japanese man. "Not what you expected?", asks Bao as she walks within earshot of Manjak. "No", answers Manjak glumly, "This is too important for insignificant politics to stop, yet, I see that when problems aren't addressed earlier people will bring them forth whenever they have a chance to do so." "Many of the countries opposing are less developed ones. They see your plan as a push by the developed world for something that they cannot afford." "Yes, but I think that while we are all equally affected by this disaster, they have felt it hit harder and faster than the developed countries. Haven't they learned a thing during these months?"

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You're doing a great job so far." "I know. Trust me, the Security Council will ask for a re-vote. But that will be wasting an entire month or two before the next meeting." "In the meantime, the countries in favor of the plan will proceed to implement it. Those include all of the G8 plus most of the other major players. Agricultural stabilization as you realized it may not happen worldwide yet, but it certainly won't be postponed." Manjak cocks his head. "No it won't.", he acknowledges, "and it will be our task to make sure that all the countries sticking to the plan follow the guidelines and regulations, and make sure the project succeeds. That is our first and foremost priority." "And the WFP?" "No change. Keep rationing whatever there is left for another year. Bao, I have to leave." "Where are you going?" "Los Angeles. Flight leaves in two hours. I need to see first-hand the effects at the center of gravity, the epicenter of this epidemic. I'll be back in Rome in three days." "Fine. Have fun in LA, Trip. See you in three." "You too." Manjak waves off his co-worker friendly a brief short distance friendly wave before moving out amongst the crowd back towards the entrance. Bao sees his head for another minute before he disappears completely behind some security guards.

Bao, as the head of the WFP, is mandated to stay at the conference, even if it involves her doing little except listening to the representatives heatedly argue their points. The session resumes shortly afterwards, continuing the along the same pattern of discussion that it held after Manjak's speech. After another four hours the Assembly is adjourned until the next day. Bao, however, realizes that until a consensus is made it is useless to remain at the Assembly session. As such, she decides takes a flight back to Rome the following day and get back to running the WFP's operations at full throttle.

Washington, DC

At the Department of Agriculture headquarters, Stephen Onassis finishes a teleconference with the Vice President of the United States, arguing back and forth over the feasibility of a program to supply Canada with small quantities of rations. Stephen Onassis completely rebuked the proposal called it a thinning out of already stretched resources, which had not gone well with the Vice President. The VP had good intentions in proposing the deal, in a effort to start his own "Good Neighbor Policy." Unfortunately, with total national food production at an all time low of 50% normal productivity and caloric value at only 67%, there was no way any food was to be spared if the nation's 306 million residents were to be fed and kept alive until a more global and lasting solution could take effect.

Onassis was surprised that the VP didn't see that, although he suspected that he proposed the policy in order to make a name for himself. Perhaps he though now was the time to strengthen alliances with needed support. _Irrational. and Illogical. Not to mention untimely_ , thought Onassis.

Another pressing issue for the Secretary of Agriculture's menu was the joint NSA and FBI investigation into Dr. Konovalov's work. Onassis would be one of the witnesses called to at the geneticist's upcoming trial, basically to explain the by-now obvious consequences of the Doctor's actions. Nonetheless, Onassis was interested in finding out how Project Deniability had started and how the secret program was run. While not having high security clearance, particularly for defense matters, Onassis was still allowed to read some of the files and all of the files from Konovalov's private research firm, all of which were deemed to be "controlled unclassified" information by the NSA. Onassis had spent many hours over the past five days pouring over Konovalov's files outlining his collaboration with NBACC to develop the ultimate earthworm killing bio-weapon.

As it turns out, the project was the brainchild of Dr. Jackson Medina, who proposed it to the Secretary of Defense. Unbelievably, Project Deniability was approved by the Secretary who saw it as a potentially useful weapon that skimmed the line between legal and illegal. According to the Secretary, he briefly explains how the BWC is designed to outlaw weapons targeting humans, but makes no reference in relation to other potential target populations. Realizing the loophole, and the viability of Project Deniability, the Defense Secretary gave Dr. Medina the green light to start development of the EWK-1 virus. Dr. Medina was given full responsibility for the program, as well as plenty of jurisdiction over the running of the program. It was mandated to be top secret, and as such very few people, amongst them the Secretary of Defense and Dr. Medina, even knew of its existence. Dr. Konovalov merely had compartmental knowledge of the program, yet somehow had gained access to the laboratory where the EWK-1 samples were housed in.

_How did he figure out what the program was and where the experimental samples were kept? Odd. He must have gotten that information from Medina. But then why would he give him classified information?_ It was more and more obvious that Medina had a much bigger role than he previously admitted. _Could the two of them have collaborated in stealing the virus? Was this intentionally released instead of a transportation accident?_ The fact that Konovalov was entrusted to transport the secret shipment seemed odd and worrisome as it was. _Were they on the payroll of an outside group to give them a sample of EWK-1?_

These were all questions that Onassis hoped the NSA and FBI would soon have answers to. He also knew that their investigations would have to be very quick and precise, since so far the only results have been the implications of two well-known and highly respectable public figures in a two seemingly unconnected, yet both disparagingly harmful gross mistakes. At this point, Onassis deeply felt that the public's confidence in its scientists and leaders had already been shaken, and was being still being tested daily by their ability to weather the crisis precipitated by the actions of the two men in question. Onassis himself was under constant public scrutiny over his management of the USDA during the last six months. On more than one occasion he was even chastised by reporters and during a congressional hearing over USDA activities prior to the outbreak of EWK-1, even though there was no way for the organization to predict such an event. The worst possible criticism came from a particularly nosy interviewer who seemed to view the entire episode as not a unexpected crisis, but rather a failure of the USDA to foresee and prepare for a national food shortage. Of course, USDA policy was designed to introduce techniques and policies to avoid such shortages in the first place, and less so to counteract them in the event of one. Onassis admits to himself that, unfortunately, this time that guiding principle had fallen short.

The phone rings. "Onassis", the Secretary answers as he picks up the phone. "Sir, this Colonel Tompkins from the NSA. We have something interesting for you to see." "What is it?" "We have uncovered some new unnerving evidence, and strongly recommend that you meet us at Fort Detrick, NBACC facility. As the Secretary of Defense is no longer leading this investigation, we still need a cabinet-level position to oversee this aspect of the investigation." "I will be on my way immediately, as soon as you tell me what is so urgent." "We have had a bigger security leak than we realized initially. We believe that you should also inform Dr. Krishnan at the NBACC before you leave for the facility." "Very well. What did your team find?" The Colonel explains in a few sentences the NSA's revelations after going through the Fort Detrick's digital security records, which, unlike the base's cameras', was still operational at the day before first contamination. Onassis is quickly briefed on the new information, and once again asked to head to NBACC by the Colonel.

Without further ado, Onassis clicks off the phone and dials Dr. Krishnan at NBACC.

California

California, being the epicenter of the ongoing earthworm extinction, bore the fruits of the disaster long before any other locale. At this point, the damage was more or less evenly distributed across the planet, so therefore being the geographical epicenter or not made little difference to the landscape and local flora and fauna. But psychologically, knowing that this is where it all began would be enough to make a person pause and take notice; contemplate silently within their own thoughts; and give respect to the unimaginable power which nature twisted in an unnatural way can possess over a given environment.

Sitting at his window seat in the Delta Air Lines Boeing 767, "Trip" Manjak gets a full view of the lifelessness and bleakness below him as the plane descends towards Los Angeles International Airport. What was once a lush, verdant paradise for mediterranean weather enthusiasts only months before was now transformed into a mayhem of dead and dying botanical wildlife. Green replaced by yellows, browns, and shades of grey in varying degrees blanket the landscape in a dull mirage, a color scheme that lacks its most vibrant element. As far as the eye could see, the only green left are a few shrubs used to poor nutrient quality and little water. All for the lack of one of the Earth's smallest and less noticed species. South California's famous Palm trees have lost their color, if not most their palm fronds as well. Heaps of unrecycled detritus matter is littered across the plains and hills, a painful reminder of the absence of the essential workers who used to clean up the biological garbage for a living. Now, instead of being recycled and used as nutrients by the living world, the dead matter causes even more pain to the living by taking space and wasting precious resources.

California's status as an agricultural state has all but vanished. Fields that were once fertile and full of produce such as fruits, vegetables, tree nuts, grapes, and almonds now sit stilled by the silence of death. Death not from a thousand cuts, nor from disease, nor a war, nor a single strike to the heart. Rather it is a death from loneliness. The fields, alone and by themsleves, could not survive without the company that they craved. That company was the company, and companionship, of the earthworms, which kept them alive and well in the living world. That cycle kept both the earthworms and the fields content and productive in their livelihood.

That companionship is now dead, and the only remnant of that bond is now the dead stalks of plants strewn across the barren land.

When the first species died out, the species that depended on them started to feel the pressure as well. Now, six months into the global storm, thousands of species across the globe are dying out at a rapid pace as a result of the breakages in their food and nutrient cycle, or as some call it, the great circle of life. Now, multiple species of birds, terrestrial animals, and even some species of insects have nearly completely disappeared from the face of California. What few remain have resorted to cowering in isolated spots by themselves, disengaging from all social contact with their peers. Hunting for their own food, jealousy and greed on the part of individuals prevent them from finding mates and helping continue the species. California has become a more lonely place, a place of shadows and echoes of the previous wildlife.

Manjak decided to fly in to California to help coordinate the relief effort at the place of origin. Frankly, it didn't matter where he was; there was hardly any real solution to the global disaster that one man could make. At least he would be helping the US authorities cut down in delays, hopefully shelve disorganization in half, and see if he could get any UN bodies to help. The US had been staunchly reluctant to allow UN agencies to intervene on US soil, so far all problems internally in the US had been the responsibility of national and local US agencies and not the responsibility of the UN. The government had, as a matter of fact, strictly prohibited any UN forces, including humanitarian units, from entering the US.

_Which really is not the best approach, considering that the US wants to be a role model for the rest of the world. We need coordinated efforts, not stand-alone heroic bullshit_. Manjak sighs, continuing to look out the window. Thinking about the state of the world, it is quite surprising, as a whole, that flights are still flying relatively on schedule throughout the US. Or for that matter, throughout the world. Yet, in a way it was quite logical that international air travel had not suffered the same way as had agriculture, the timber industry, or any other economic activity that depended on plants. While ecosystems had disappeared, oil continued to be extracted out of the ground from Saudi Arabia to Venezuela. There was no correlation between the number of earthworms present and the quantity of oil in a given area. _For that matter_ , Manjak thought, _in a few million more years there should be huge new deposits of crude petroleum from the decaying bodies of the ecosystems lost today. And so the cycle begins anew._ The petroleum continued to be sucked out of far-flung deserts and wayward ocean drills to be exported to the centers of industry and commerce. _So at least our cars, planes, and for that matter the whole transportation system is still running. Which has helped FAO a lot these last three months._

And for the time being, the globe was still held together by the two forces that have globalized it during the first decade of the twenty-first century. The Internet still connected millions of homes and billions of the planets' residents through trillions of electrical impulses carried out by an innumerable quantity of underwater fiber-optic carrying wires and Wi-Fi microwaves. information still flowed across the globe, unhampered by biological processes that were essentially an isolated system from the technological forces of globalization. In addition, international air travel continued to be as safe and reliable as it had been in the previous year. Airlines continued to receive the kerosene necessary to keep their fleets in the air from the oil companies, which in turn kept passengers flying as they always do for business and leisure activities. The only difference was that now most major airlines didn't serve food on their flights. The US phenomenon of "pay-for-your-food" was now copied globally for short-haul and long-haul flights. And if food on the ground was thought to be expensive, the airlines thought it fair to charge totally exorbitant prices in the air to passengers who had no choice but to either bring their own food or purchase on-board. To make matters even less entertaining to passengers, the food sold on board came in even smaller quantities than before and its new form lowered the already low reputation that airline food suffered overall. To many frequent travelers, this change in the airlines' attitudes may have been a bit upfront but it was an understandable change. To most other people, though, it came as a surprise that the airlines continued to offer food in the first place. With so many species of crop dying out, diet variety was one of the first and foremost things to be disrupted in the lives of people in developed countries around the globe.

Manjak isn't in California to save the thousands of dying species. Just one of them. Homo Sapiens Sapiens, that naive yet supremely capable species that is as weak as any domesticated cat yet also as hardy as a voracious sewer rat. While the fields of Californian grapes, lettuce, oranges, and flocks of chickens have succumbed to the terrible chain of events following that first fateful day, humanity at ground zero remains as resilient as ever. However, disorganization and misuse of resources are critical issues in Manjak's mind that need to be addressed in person. Even though the UN has no jurisdiction in California, under US federal law, he may still come over as an advisor to the government. He hopes that two days will be enough.

The plane makes a sharp left bank. The view out of the window gives Manjak another glimpse of the decaying landscape outside of LAX airport. Although the runways are located at the waterfront, the few patches of trees that surround the airport are not the vibrant green that they used to be. The rest of the landscape is full of rowhouses typical of west Los Angeles. The plane lands on time, and thirty minutes after jostling through the airport crowds, which while smaller than before are still sizable at LAX, Manjak picks a cab and heads downtown. A slow bumper-to-bumper ride adds another forty minutes before Manjak arrives in front of FEMA's temporary headquarters in the city's downtown.

The building being used by the joint FEMA-USDA emergency administration is no other building than the city hall of Los Angeles. The gleaming white facade of central tower jutts out from the building's base, proudly displaying the strength and pride that most Angelenos feel for their city. Even in the harsh climate of the last six months, the feelings of intense loyalty and sense of being able to stand the tide of negative things is still etched on the faces of ordinary Angelenos along the streets. Manjak gets out of the taxi, pays his bill, and runs up the stairs to bump into a cohort of armed LAPD officers who immediately move to prevent his ascent. A Lieutenant appears inbetween his men as Manjak is stopped by an open palm to his chest. "This is a restricted area, sir. Please state your business here.", comes the expected statement from the detachments' lieutenant. Manjak doesn't even bother responding verbally. Dressed in a fashionable yet practical business suit, Manjak simply takes out his diplomatic UN passport and passes it to the police officer. After a quick scan, the officer hands the passport back to Manjak and motions him forward. "Sorry for the delay, sir. A necessary precaution, I'm sure you'll understand". Manjak already knew the reason. After there had been several small riots in the city over government food ration distribution policies, the police presence had been increased to prevent such disturbances from occurring again. However, beneath the quiet facade there still simmered a deep heated tension between many of Los Angeles' poorer residents and the government of California over the perceived inequity of distribution.

That was partially what Manjak hoped to improve here. Entering the city hall Manjak is greeted by droves of FEMA and USDA officials, secretaries, Food agency workers, and others that have taken up residence in the old masonry building. One of the government employees waiting at the reception desk comes over and recognizes him from the news. "Mr. Manjak? Please come this way." Leading him to an elevator, the receptionist takes Manjak through a speedy ten floor ascent to the top of the city hall's tower. The glass windows give an impressionable view of the Los Angeles downtown skyline, which consists of approximately a dozen supertall skyscrapers clustered together, surrounded by much lower development. Michael McCarthy looks up from his phone when Manjak knocks on his door, motioning for Manjak to enter.

"Hey Trip. Come on in. Give me a minute" as he holds the phone between his shoulder and chin. After hanging up, McCarthy asks, "So what made you get on a plane from New York to California so quickly? You were just in New York, right?" "Hmmm, so what made you become director of all USDA-FEMA operations for the West Coast so quickly?", retorted Manjak politely, seeing McCarthy take a moment to make up answer. Before that, though, Manjak continued, "well, I thought you might use some UN oversight. I'm here unofficially, but I am here nonetheless. For about two days, before I have to fly to New York and then to Rome. Its amazing that we still have a functioning airline network." "For now. For now." replies McCarthy. "ok, so while you have been on your world tour, it has been pretty busy here." "Where is LaJoy? He was in charge when we put together the International Task Force three months ago." "LaJoy is dead" comes the somber response. "Killed by angry rioters in a freak incident." "Sorry to hear that." Yeah, well. In this world things happen; and because of that promotions tend to happen even faster." "Shall we get down to it?" "Sure thing".

"Alright. Let me see your relief coordination plans, GIS maps for sectors hardest hit, personnel deployment, relief center setup. Basically everything you can get me." "This will probably work easier if I just show you. You can follow and advise me for the next day or two, if that is how you wanted to do this." "Sounds good to me."

The duo of agriculture specialists make their way out of the high-rise office back into the elevator. Descending four floors, they exit the elevator to enter a control-room full of LCD screens, monitors, map images, dozens of workers on phones, technicians running displays, and in general a sort of organized mayhem. "This is our control room for all West coast relief operations," explains McCarthy. "Every major city has multiple relief centers set up where we distribute food rations based on coupons which are also given to people at the centers. This way security only has to worry about the centers." "Where do you get food from?", inquires Manjak, although he suspected he already knew the answer. "Farms out in the midwest and Northeast have been completely isolated by the Mississippi River and a huge decontamination program undertaken last month. You may have heard of it. After the Secretary of Defense recommended it we took to "decontaminate" the Mississippi by pouring a huge amount of antibacterial solution into the river. That barrier has allowed prime farmland in states like Ohio, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, and so forth to remain isolated from the virus. Thus we still have a food source, although it is just not enough to sustain us". "The point is you still have half the breadbasket intact and are making good use of it". "We were following your ideas; such as your isolation scheme of the Nile River Valley. We just followed the example, more or less."

"I'm flattered. No really. But you know, I made sure every government around the world got a copy of FAO's recommendations last October." "We did receive a copy. Way back. I read the entirety of it. And put it to good use, naturally." McCarthy pauses, while leading Manjak around a massive 100-inch monitor displaying a myriad color image of the west American coast with geopolitical boundaries. "This is our comprehensive map of the West Coast and Mexico. The green represents remaining forest and chlorophyll plants." Manjak sees that most of the screen is a blot of brown, with only a few pockets of green lining the northern border with Canada.

_We are losing ground so rapidly. Gaia is winning this war._ Manjak walks over to a smaller monitor where a FEMA worker is issuing instructions over his headphones. The FEMA employee's voice betrays frustration and irritation that he is trying failingly to contain. Manjak steps closer to listen in to the conversation.

"Just make sure they don't get within twenty feet of the containers.", he repeats for the third time to the headset. Manjak leans closer, asking softly to avoid his voice going over the air as well, "What seems to be the problem?" The man looks up at Manjak, a paradoxical combination of annoyance and relief on his face; annoyance for being distracted, yet relieved to find someone else to handle the situation. "Sir, we have people blocking the traffic on East Alondra Drvie in Compton. One of our convoys can't get through", replies the man. "What do you mean, is blocking our convoy?", asks Manjak. "Three vans have halted traffic at the site, and have blockaded the road," explains theoperator, "Our guys say they can't continue to deliver their supplies-- hold on". The man puts the headphone closer to his ear, his face palling even more than its natural state as he tries to make out the situation at the other end of the line.

Manjak hears a lot of commotion and shouting over the headphone line, but due to his two feet of distance between him and the controller, as well as the controller's head, it comes out as garbled and hardly recognizable. The operator's face has become ashen at this point, as the radio static confirms his initial fears. "They've been hijacked. We need to get Director McCarthy here immediately!", he cries out as he reaches for another phone. "Are you sure?", asks Manjak, "We don't want to be making errors here." "He said they had Ak-47s right before the line went out, and I heard them being told to get their hands in the air and everything. The convoy is in the crosshairs of a gang or something!"

McCarthy, being only a few cubicles away, walks over faster than the Flash when Manjak calls out his name. "What is it?" "Sir", replies the operator, "We've lost contact with Convoy 6A as they were going along East Alondra Drive in Compton. Thats to the south of here. Their lead vehicle was ambushed by several grey GM vans, they got out to find out that the men in the vans looked like gang members. I told them to stay back, when the men got out with what are probably Ak-47s and other small arms and told our guys to get their hands in the air. I heard some yelling and scuffling after that, and the line went out" The man swallowed hard before continuing, "Their GPS is still working though" "Where are they?"growls McCarthy. "At the intersection of East Alondra and South Harris. It's located in a residential neighborhood" replies the operator.

McCarthy flips open his cellphone and starts punching numbers furiously. Manjak, realizing that he doesn't have the networks or contacts here to be of any help here, clings back while McCarthy calls over all of the top brass in the City Hall. Within two minutes the FEMA district administrator, the LAPD Commissioner and the SWAT Colonel present in the City Hall are gathered for an informal meeting. "We have a convoy ambushed in Compton. And we may have a hostage situation", declared McCarthy to the other three. "Hostage situation? Are you sure?", asks Tony Ramirez, the Police Commissioner. "What happened to the cameras on the convoy trucks?" "They're out", replies Ellis from FEMA. Ramirez looks at the SWAT leader and McCarthy, "I could get a helicopter there in five minutes", he replies as he gives a nod to one of two junior lieutenants at his side. "We'll need to mobilize rapidly then. Special Ops units, sniper units, everything", adds the SWAT Colonel, "I'll get my teams moving. And confirm that the convoy people are hostages and not already KIA. I need to know what my people have to deal with".

McCarthy adds, "We need to move now." But by the time he sentence had been uttered the SWAT commander had already gone past the door with a "Call me on my line if you need me" goodbye. Ramirez was talking on his phone to his field officers. Turning to McCarthy, Ellis said, "Can they get my people back?" "I certainly hope so." McCarthy said. At this point, Manjak was thinking what to do. He turned to McCarthy and Ellis, stating, "I've had these situations before. Maybe there is some way I can diffuse it, without using force. We have militias that try to take control of food relief convoys all the time, especially in warzones. I should go, see if there's anything I can do." "Do?", laughs McCarthy, "This isn't a warzone. Its a petty gang.We have plenty of them here" "I honestly don't see that much of a difference. What, with the amount of police you have in the streets do you have any checking the borders at this rate? There is no shortage of illegal smuggling during these past six months", answers Manjak. "Well, if you're so interested in going, talk to Ramirez" retorts McCarthy sharply. "I'm warning you not to, though. The last thing you need is to end up like LaJoy." "I absolutely am not going to end up like LaJoy. I know what I'm doing Mike". "Fine.", grunts McCarthy frustrated, "ask Ramirez for a lift".

Fortunately for Trip, Ramirez catches the conversation while looking up from his phone. "Hey, UN guy. If you're up for a quick ride, I'm heading in the air command post". Manjak glances at McCarthy before turning into step with Ramirez and a police lieutenant. Walking quickly, Ramirez leads the way to the elevator which takes them to the ground level. Heading out at a fast clip, Ramirez walks past three dozen police officers to a large helicopter waiting outside City Hall in what used to be a park. Cleared of benches and trees to make space for a landing pad, the space is now occupied by a Black Sikorsky S-76. Going through the wind created by the blades relentless spinning, Ramirez enters the aircraft with Manjak right alongside him. Manjak climbs into the aircraft and the ground officer closes the door besides him. A thunder of additional power is added to the engine as the aircraft slowly lifts into the sky.

Inside the helicopter Ramirez talks with his ground personnel over radio airwaves, while a Sergeant and a captain coordinate police through video and computer interfaces. Manjak stays in the back seat, observing the white angular tower of City Hall fall from under his feet as the helicopter ascends to a cruising altitude 200 meters above the ground. The grey and red concrete slabs of jungle that make up Los Angeles' downtown slowly peel back to smaller and more down-trodden three-story housing and retail settlements as the helicopter ventures southward. From the rear seat Manjak looks down to see a line of five police cruisers racing down an avenue parallel to the helicopter. Looking up from the ground he spots a formation of four additional police helicopters flying in formation with the pearly peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains as a backdrop. _If only I had a camera- nice picture._ Manjak brushes the thought away as Ramirez leans back informing him, "Hey, we should be arriving at the scene in two minutes". Manjak hears the scattered police reports buzzing in on the intercom frequency, and suddenly realizes that it is a warzone. In so many years of travel to underdeveloped and unstable nations, Manjak had come to expect and always be ready for action and quick getaways at a moments' notice. Now, he realized he was flying into battle in America's second largest city. It was time to hang on.

When the chatter of gunfire is heard through glass inside a helicopter with its blades at full power, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that it is a powerful weapon at work. And close. And deadly. The familiar and terrifying traaat-traat of fully automatic weapon fire is unmistakable to anyone who has watched action movies, or for that matter, anyone that has any live experience with them. "Team 1 is under fire, they're requesting back-up!", calls out the Sergeant to Ramirez. "Order Teams 2,3, and 4 to cover them!" The helicopter makes a sharp right turn, banking over a neighborhood of convenience stores, small retail outfits, and similar row-houses. Traffic has entirely ceased on East Alondra drive, as police cruisers have blocked over a mile in radius around the last reported zone of Convoy 6A. As one of the other police helicopters flies in a hundred meters off the port side, Manjak notices a black-clad sniper take position in the aircrafts' open side door.

"Eagle's Eye. . .taking position overhead" comes across the radio. The portside helicopter climbs higher, while Manjak shudders in his seat as more power is applied by the pilot. "What's going on down there? Lieutenant, fall back to back up positions now!", yells Ramirez over the radio to his officer, his voice barely audible over the low roar of the helicopters' spinning blades.

Manjak observes a swarm of police officers run quickly behind a building. He quickly counts seven of them as another burst of gunfire erupts. The last officer falls to the ground in the middle of the street. His comrade in front of him notices him fall, and runs back to get him, throwing all caution to the wind. In seconds he falls down hard as well, a pool of blood gathering by his head on the ground. The remaining five officers, hiding behind the compound, open fire with their service pistols. Shots ring out, _clanging_ loudly against metal, cars, and concrete as they spray wildly.

_This is crazy_ ; thinks Manjak to himself. Just then the concrete barrier in front of the cops explodes in a shower of heavy automatic fire- and the solid concrete is pulverized in front of Manjak's eyes. The officers dive behind several old wooden slabs left over from construction. Manjak looks up, to see the sniper on the adjacent helicopter squeeze the trigger. He squeezes again, pauses for a second; squeezes it again. _Jesus. This is a full-scale war_. The helicopter shudders violently as the pilot banks sharply to the left. On the urban grid of streets below, Manjak sees a group of over thirty police dug in between their cruisers, buildings, and other obstacles, exchanging small arms fire with unseen attackers presumably hidden throughout the neighborhood. several hundred feet in front of the dug in police cadre lie the trucks of convoy 6A. Manjak counts three trucks. _What? three, there were four in the convoy!?_ _Where's the fourth truck?_

The scene is grisly. The first truck is on fire, blocked from any possible means of escape by the trucks behind and a large vans blocking it in front. Three bloodied bodies are strewn around the trucks in various twisted unnatural positions, two of them with FEMA uniforms. No police are near the trucks, but as Manjak observes the scene from the air two men race to the third and last truck, opening the doors. They drag a seemingly unconscious or possibly dead driver out, before piling into the vehicle. They start the engine, and start backing away quickly. _They're taking our trucks!_ "Hey, Ramirez, they're taking our trucks! They're taking the food aid!", shouts Manjak. Ramirez noticed that already. "Team 3, take the truck out. The truck is being taken!" The helicopter swerves around, Manjak sees men in ski masks and bandanas behind barriers and cars on the ground turn fire at their helicopter. "Sir, we're taking fire", reports the pilot. "Get us back!", shouts back Ramirez. "Enemy snipers!", exclaims the Sergeant. "They've got snipers on the ground!" "Take them out! SWAT! Where is SWAT?"

The escorting gunship comes around as the onboard SWAT sniper takes aim at the attackers below. Suddenly an object impacts his chest, and he falls dead 200 feet to the ground out of the helicopter. "We have a sniper down!"yells the radio in shock "Who the fuck cares, we're still taking fire!", replies Ramirez. Bullets ping off the helicopter's port side as numerous small arms and automatic rifles are aimed at the flying cruiser. The aircraft picks up speed as the pilot flies banks right and flies away from the mass of ground based attackers. "Sir, they've got heavy machine guns!", yells the sergeant over the din. "What the shit!? How?", shouts Ramirez. The helicopter lurches forward as a small air bubble is formed behind in its wake. Manjak grabs a hold of his seat belt and holds on for safety as the pilot navigates them out of the battle zone.

_Klang!_ Suddenly the front window of the helicopter breaks apart in a terrifying explosion, sending glass fragments scattering themselves at terrific speeds across the cockpit. A violent hailstorm of bullets ricochets over the aircrafts interior, destroying electronics, metal, wall covering, and leather seating. The Sergeant in front is hit three times to the face and central body cavity, showering the area in blood and human flesh. The pilot ducks down under the shattered cockpit, screaming in pain, "I'm hit!" Seeing him move down away from the controls, Manjak yells, "Shit! Don't let go of the controls!" The chopper goes into a wild swirl. "I've already lost control, what the fuck do you think!", yells the man. "Fuck, we're going down!" The aircraft starts to enter a nauseating headspin as Manjak clings to his seat for dear life. _oh Shit_. _We're going down._

More small arms fire ricochets off the slowly falling aircraft, prompting Manjak to keep his head low and away from the windows. The spin is uncontrollable. The feeling in Manjak's gut turns into an unbearable gravity well of decaying lead as the ground moves ever closer to the window. "I'm trying to get back control!",shouts the pilot as he wrestles violently with the control stick. "Come on baby, here we go!" He wrenches the stick back, pulling the vehicle's nose up slightly, "more power, baby, more power!". Even with one arm injured and his left shoulder covered in blood, the pilot manages to get the helicopter to level out horizontally. "Land land land!!", shouts Ramirez "I'm trying sir!" The aircraft lurches forward and then starts going on a straight path. The ground seems within an arms' length away from through Manjak's window, and approaching rapidly. Ramirez curls himself up into a crash posture. "Brace for impact!" Manjak closes his eyes.

The aircraft hits the ground tail first with a massive **thud** causing a an equally massive sonic shock that deafens all aboard for a second. Then windows cracks, electronic equipment flies around like paper airplanes. The sides groan in punishment and cave in slightly due to the enormous pressure exerted upon the steel by the impact. Manjak is throw wildly left and right, impacting his shoulders and head on the hard metal panel. Ramirez is throw sideways, headbutting Manjak's abdomen in a bone-crunching blow. Then the seeming quake stops, leaving pieces of paper in the air, strewn wires, radio equipment, and broken glass all over Manjak, Ramirez, and the pilot in the front seat. Manjak's first though comes out as relief for still being alive. _We are still in one piece. Get up Manjak_.

Unstrapping himself from the seatbelt that barely held him together, he shakes Ramirez's shoulder to bring the man back into reality. Ramirez's eyes open immediately from the quick rock. "What?! We dead, we up?", he shouts before getting a grip and looking around. "We're down on the ground! Quick, we have to move out of here. We're surrounded by the bandits". Completely agreeing with the sentiment, Manjak turns in his seat and kicks open the jammed door. The door flies open after the second attempt. Manjak jumps of the chopper as Ramirez follows. The pilot crawls through the fuselage and several seconds later comes out of the same exit.

The area is a down-trodden alley of ill-maintained two story homes, retailing strip malls and several other nondescript buildings. Gunfire erupts nearby. "Stay low, move fast", whispers Ramirez, ducking down. "I'll lead". He grabs the radio in his breastpocket and turns it on. "Ramirez here, we're down in Block D. Over. Need backup." Over the radio the receiver picks up, "Sir. We have units converging on your position." "Roger." To Manjak: "Stay low, follow me. No hero stunts, no rash action". Ramirez pulls out his service pistol out of its holster and walks in a slightly crouched position amongst the debris. Manjak trails him closely crouched as well, followed by the pilot.

All of a sudden two men in military khakis and chains race up the perpendicular street a 50 meters in front of the trio. Both sport kalashnikovs in their arms. One notices the trio, yelling to his companion. Ramirez runs forward, shoots off three shots from his pistol, and throws himself behind a large dumpster. The first gangster falls to the pavement, while the second lets go a shower of lead upon the alleyway where the helicopter's entourage are, now trapping them. Manjak hears the air next to his head sizzle as rounds electrify the atmosphere less than ten centimeters from his brain. He turns to a huge pile of wood and jumps towards it. As he crashes down, however, an unexpected and overwhelming pain wells up in his lower abdomen. He slams into the wood pile with his hands, receiving cuts and bruises all along his right arm. Then he looks down at his abdomen, to see a large dark red stain spreading across his stomach area. _Oh damn._ Intense pain clouds his judgement and consciousness as an unrelenting darkness settles upon his vision. "Manjak!", he hears Ramirez call out. The sound of the commissioner's voice seems very far off.

Two more gunshots. Manjak sees the blurry outline of the Commissioner coming towards him as the world around him is consumed by blackness. . .

Back in the relative safety of the now heavily fortified structure known locally as City Hall, McCarthy watches the horror on East Alondra drive unfold through the LCD screens along with the rest of the FEMA and LAPD staff. As soon as Ramirez's command helicopter is hit and goes down McCarthy's gut, more than the frantic inter -unit police communications, tells him that the situation has deteriorated badly. An deep and acidic feeling settles itself in his stomach as he watches the massive firefight erupt between security forces and the would-be hijackers in the urbane environment of Los Angeles. It is all that McCarthy could do but sit down and watch the Mayor, Sub-Commissioner, and FEMA officials try to get a hold of the situation. McCarthy walks out of the control room to buy himself a coke from the vending machine. In addition to being his favorite drink that he is nearly addicted to, the caffeine should help him stay awake and focused after twelve continuous hours on the job. He hopes.

Grabbing the can out of the opening, McCarthy takes a sip and heads back to the control room. The Deputy Commissioner of LA had taken command since the loss of contact with Ramirez's helicopter, directing a large number of the units in South Central to converge and secure the crash site. As he watches, force lieutenants and sergeants speak in rapid, yet controlled tones to their squads in the field, who in turn slowly make their way to the crash site. Two of the remaining helicopters had taken up a stationary patterns around the crash site, providing fire support as well as clear camera footage. McCarthy saw to his dismay that there were five visible gunmen between the downed chopper and approaching security forces, who were locked in a firefight. Ramirez and the pilot are spotted by the second helicopter, when McCarthy notices whom they have between them. A bloodied and lifeless Manjak, lying on the ground behind several crates while being protected by the Commissioner. Another masked gunman appears out of a small side street, firing his pistol wildly at the Commissioner's position but is quickly gunned down by a aerial sniper.

Several more quick shots ring out on screen, followed by two SWAT agents hurrying down the alley to the Commissioner's position. Ramirez and the pilot stand up, picking up Manjak's limp body and dragging him between their shoulders as the SWAT officers cover them, sweeping the area for more gang members. The two men of the hour trot as fast as they can with Manjak dodging debris, garbage cans, lampposts, and the occasional tree. After what seems an eternity they reach the makeshift police line, barricaded behind store fronts and sheds. An ambulance miraculously arrives at the same time, swerving to a halt two dozen meters behind the entrenched law enforcement officers. The commissioner and the escaped pilot with the ambulance's EMTs haul Manjak's body onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. An injured police officer is also placed in the ambulance, before the EMTs hop on board and shut the doors. The ambulance rushes off at high speed, leaving the embattled police once again by themselves on the urban battlefield.

Ramirez, though wounded slightly in the shoulder where a bullet had grazed him, seems unfazed by the events, and jumps into a waiting police cruiser which drives off. The Commissioner's voice is finally heard again in the control room, quickly stating that he is fine and retaking command of the force from the Deputy. The good news at that point, was that the firefight had become significantly less intense at that point. The reason for this quickly became obvious when the lieutenant in the corner shouted, "Sir, they're escaping! Chopper three has an eye on a convoy of four vehicles heading south on Interstate five. Chopper three is in pursuit." Now, the situation on the ground quickly reversed, as the police went from being the besieged to the besieging. The camera from one of the helicopters shifts from urban geography and dense roads to four lane highway. No cruisers give chase to the criminals yet but a swarm of three helicopters is more than enough to keep an eye on the escaping gang. McCarthy realizes that he needs to get back to his own work. First thing- check the inventory and find out how much food and supplies the bandits had robbed from the FEMA trucks.

McCarthy looks up at the inventory for incoming convoys for the day from LAX. Food supplies are being brought in from the Midwest, where normal levels of food production is still ongoing. Cargo airlines have been chartered by the government to fly in thousands of tons of pre-prepared rations and MREs to LAX, which are then distributed by FEMA throughout Los Angeles and San Diego. The inventory of convoy 6A included rice, potatoes, ready-made bread, and 2,000 kilograms of vitamins A-D. _Is that what they were after? Vitamins?_ In the recent months it seemed that criminals were more interested in bringing products, usually food, from the United States than importing drugs from Mexico. With food prices through the roof, it was easy to see how the border gangs had changed their commodities to a more lucrative business. While most law enforcement would not see food ordinarily as anything remotely criminal, the nature of their acquisition was still clearly again the law and as such the gangs were still criminal. In addition they had not ceased their other, more traditional operations.

McCarthy almost immediately decided that the food lost was paltry-but that the practice obviously was not. He also realized that now convoys would need police protection from LAX to the distribution centers, whereas previously they had gone without. There have been many previous incidents of theft of food, MREs, and other supplies, but never one so violent as today's. It was clear that the gangs would be taking greater risks.

McCarthy approaches the Deputy Commissioner and the Mayor, who are discussing what to do next. "We definitely need protection for those convoys,", he hears the Mayor say. "We can't have a bunch of crooks running this town." "I don't know how many more officers I can spare", replies the Deputy Commissioner, "We are already spread thin as it is, between maintaining constant patrols and keeping guard over the distribution centers". "Then we'll get the National Guard as well.", replies the Mayor squarely. "I'll talk to Chief Ramirez, but I think that, at this point we need them. The situation most likely won't get any better. From experience, I can say that the gangs will become more confident and risky after today's trial by fire". "I'll speak to the Governor. So we're getting the National Guard here." "Definitely. We can't keep up with criminals who have the weaponry used today, especially if they turn out equally as numerous."

The Mayor walks off to his office, leaving the Deputy free to return to monitoring the helicopter chase.

McCarthy instructs a FEMA employee to call for a police escort for the next convoy heading to the South Central distribution center, and then calls LAX Cargo himself in order to make sure a replacement convoy can get there fast enough. Once that is complete he logs the days' events into his personal account, from which the USDA will get a brief summary of the events transpiring. With that finished, he dials Onassis to tell him in words about the delays any food shipments to LAX will now be experiencing.

"You!", Krishnan violently expels the seemingly poisonous word, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "You!", he repeats, standing over a table across from the sitting Jackson Medina, who is staring just as aggravatingly and intently back at him. Krishnan can barely contain the flood of anger, frustration, and desire to simply kick the man straight threw the wall. But he knew that he needed to restrain himself if they were to get to the bottom of this inconceivable loophole of events. Here, in the second-floor conference room of NBACC surrounded by two three FBI guards as well as the Secretary of Agriculture, is not the time or place for loosing coolness of head.

"You, of all people", Krishnan states more softly, "What have you to say for yourself? Is this really you? How could you possibly, **possibly** explain yourself?" Krishnan pushes the play button on the security camera footage from one of the parking lot at NBACC from September of the previous year. Medina glares at the screen as a hooded man is shown entering the NBACC facility through one of the side entrances into the large red hospital-like complex. Moments later, the camera shuts down. "You shut down the cameras!", states Manjak to the silent Medina. "You have access to all the security systems in the building! Konovalov never had access to the building. Yet you cleverly forged all of documents allegedly proving his involvement in the organization. Simply because you collaborated with his company is not an indication that he knew what he was involved in. And his company signed a non-disclosure agreement as well." Medina sits quietly, looking at the video. "Do you deny these charges?", asks Onassis from the back. Having heard enough, the Secretary of Agriculture steps forward to the table and slams his hand down hard, reverberating across the conference room.

"You can plead not guilty now, and perhaps claim that the evidence here is wrong and that you are innocent. You may try to refute the evidence. Or you can sit there and accept everything we state as the truth. Either way, we will find out soon enough." Onassis paces around the table, brushing the backs of the chairs with his hand. "Theft of an illegal weapon device under your jurisdiction and indiscriminate usage of this device on civilian populations, with the full knowledge that the device is unpredictable and untested in a live scenario, is not negligence. It isn't even abuse. It is very much a crime again humanity, a crime against this planet and every living being on it. I can think of no sufficient atonement for you. The Secretary of Defense will have to face his own trial for authorizing such a weapon which was specifically banned under the 1969 Accords."

"I just have one question, really. . . . . _Why?_ " Onassis leans down to look at Medina squarely in the eyes, Onassis's dark brown iris directly matched to Medina's slightly darker black. "Perhaps you cannot even justify this to yourself", Onassis thinks aloud, "But there had to be some _reason_ for doing this." "Why?!" he reiterates. Medina locks his eyes onto Onassis, answering Onassis's single word question with a deafeningly quiet single word answer, " _Faith_ ". "Faith?", asks Onassis, stumped by the simplicity of Medina's reply. The quiet in the room becomes an eerie silence with the man's words. Even the FBI guards exchange quick looks of disbelief. "Yes. Faith. I had lost faith." "Lost faith?" "I lost faith in humanity". "Lost faith in humanity?" repeat Onassis, not believing the answer. "Well, you see,", explains Medina, shifting his body in the chair, "I've seen us do some many things, and we try to save ourselves from this, that, and the other thing. We humans are such hypocrites at heart. Lying, cheating, and stealing bastards, with no respect for each other. I finally realized the true nature of humanity, and you know what? Might as well give other species a chance to live and evolve in our place."

Onassis and Krishnan listen intently as the man previously in charge of some of NBACCs most top secret programs revealed his thoughts on the world. "I was trained as a biologist. Everything that goes on around us is a biological process. I hoped that, by going to medical school, I would be able to help those in need of help, those sick, those dying. I imagined myself as a doctor. Of course that went well, I studied at John Hopkins. I then specialized in virology. When I first got the job posting here, it was incredible- working at cutting edge bio-defense in the hopes of saving populations against terrorism. Ha. Even the word. . . bio-defense? Who are we really defending against? The environment? No. The environment needs a bio-defense against us. Especially after all the decades of exploitation that we have done in the name of so-called progress. But no, we continue, even at the risk to ourselves and our civilization. We really are a greedy species, the greediest I have yet to be acquainted with. And believe me, the competition is intense. We say we like it "green", yet then build more polluting industries and power plants instead of building renewable energy sources. We finance enough wars to build so many hundreds of new hospitals and schools but instead spent the money on more violence."

"Even in our personal relationships, we deceive our so-called friends and make new enemies. It must be a part of human nature. Friendship is a lost concept to us. Family is barely what it used to be. I've been through four divorces, and now I've got nothing to show for it. Everything is about business, and even that is so thoroughly corrupt you could hardly call it _business_ anymore. The underground economy is more like it."

"So I've decided, fuck it. If the planet's ecosystem goes the way of the dodo so will we. Then perhaps in several thousand years some of the remaining species will repopulate and take over, given a new chance at life without the worse pestilence the planet has known. Maybe, in a few million years, another, more evolved, and . . . shall I say, _civilized,_ species will become sentient and once again give this planet a chance at true life. I'm through and through with the human species. When I finally got the green light to proceed with this project, I realized its potential and knew what to do. The hypocritical Defense Department wouldn't let me engineer something like Ebola or Smallpox, even though they still keep live samples in Atlanta. And it would be obvious to the other scientists. This, on the other hand, was ingenious, not to mention executed under their very noses."

Krishnan stood in stunned silence, listening to the man's twisted rationale. Even though there were many aspects of Medina's rant that Krishnan reluctantly agreed with, it was obvious that the man had gone completely haywire. He glanced at Onassis, who was merely silently contemplating the man sitting at the chair in front of him, no less defiant than before his admission of guilt. Suddenly, Onassis snaps- "Get him out of here.", growling angrily. Two of the FBI officers snap to attention and line themselves behind Medina, one producing a pair of handcuffs. Medina refuses to give his hands, which leads to the officers forcefully grabbing his hands and placing them in the metal handcuffs. Locking the cuffs together, the officers get Medina to stand upright and escort him, now more willingly, out of the room. Onassis grabs a swiveling chair from the conference table, moves towards the window and plops himself on it. He face seems much wearier and older than it was only two months ago when Krishnan first met him.

"What do you think?" he asks Krishnan conversationally. "Insane", replies Krishnan. "Totally insane. How did he pass a basic psychological examination? Let alone be assigned as divisional chief in this facility?" "According to his medical files, he had no psychological problems. None that he disclosed, it seems. He was a very focused and proficient researcher and leader." "He could be covering for someone else.", warns Krishnan, debating the plausibility of the entire plan being carried out by Medina alone. "Its possible," agrees Onassis, "which is the Defense Department is going to be thoroughly debriefing everyone employed here at NBACC, as well as going through their records again. They may be worried about other security concerns as well, now that we have already discovered this major one." "What are we going to do with him?" "I don't know. That is really up to the Justice Department to decide. So it's up to the Attorney General, although due to the spread to many countries I'm sure there will be many who will be calling for his extradition. That is the State Department's responsibility." "Konovalov was fairly close to him, yet didn't sense anything wrong or out of the ordinary. I doubt that anyone else would have been able to predict his move." "Most likely not.", agrees Onassis monotonously. "Sometimes people that we think we know so well will do things so completely out of sync with their perceived character that their motives will be known only to themselves, and understood by no one else, including those considered to be their closest friends," he muses.

Krishnan takes a seat. The only consolation to the past week's events to him is now that the world would know the real reason behind the extinction of the earthworms, and that countries would hopefully now put aside their accusations and cease finger-pointing the blame at each other. Some cases, such as several countries in the Middle East as well as India and Pakistan, had drawn notoriety for the ridiculousness of some of the governments' claims.

"You should be heading back to LA," comments the Secretary off-handedly, "I'm leaving for Washington, with the doctor. " "I will be, soon. However, I will be taking copies of Dr. Medina's research diary as well as all the files from Project Deniability that he kept labeled as _Above Top Secret_. I think that may help me and my team understand every little change that Medina made to the _Stomatitus_ virus in order to produce EWK-1. Finally, it may help with one last idea that myself and Konovalov discussed prior to his arrest. Speaking of which, is he to be released? He is an invaluable addition to our team, and frankly I think that significant progress has been delayed due to his absence."

"I'll see to it personally that Dr. Konovalov is released immediately and is sent on his way to UCLA.", replies Onassis, standing up from his chair. "I have to get back to Washington.", he excuses himself and heads out the door. Krishnan follows shortly thereafter, heading towards the trio of elevators in the middle of the building. Taking the elevators to the second subterranean basement floor, he walks out and heads towards Dr. Medina's lab. Taking Medina's entry card out of his breast pocket, Krishnan swipes the card onto the scanning machine next to the lab's sliding bulletproof glass doors. A small green light along the scanner lights up, and the doors hiss open. Krishnan steps into the sterile environment of Medina's laboratory, one of the highest tech bio-defense labs in the world. The dimly lit room suddenly lights up as the motion sensors kick in response to his presence. Krishnan is surrounded by a world of multimillion dollar microscopes and molecular modeling supercomputers. Krishnan walks over to the baseline computer terminal and logs on. A triple password soon appears, which is quickly followed by a log-on sign. After finding out about Medina's treachery, Krishnan requested that the NBACC Software and Network Security department remove all passwords from Dr. Medina's system in order to have access. Krishnan beings to download all of the Project Deniability files from Medina's computer onto a removable hard drive, and subsequently e-mails the smaller files and images to himself. With that task complete, Krishnan shuts down the computer and takes one last look around before leaving the laboratory.

Beep. . . Beep. . . Manjak wakes up to the sound of a slow pulsating bleep. Looking around, he finds himself surrounded by life systems monitors, defibrillators, IV bags, and blank whitewashed walls. He realizes that he is in an intensive care unit. The beeping sound that seemingly awoke him is coming from the heart-rate monitoring system, where the graph keeps going up and down with each of his heartbeats. _I'm alive_. The joyous yet emotionally draining feeling sinks in. Blinking, he tries to piece back together the last several events that happened before he lost consciousness. Quickly, he remembers the frightening helicopter crash and ensuing firefight and brushes the thoughts out of his head. Taking another closer look, he sees several IV tubes connected to his right forearm, as well as the other patient lying three meters away in an adjacent bed. The other patient is reading a book.

"Hey", Manjak tries to start a conversation with his fellow bed-ridden colleague, "What book are you reading?" "The man lowers the book, also taking notice that the patient next to him has awoken. Dark tousled hair over rugged face shows a face "Of Crime and Punishment. I've always wanted to read it. Never got the chance to, though." "Now would be a good time, I suppose.", replied Manjak. "I hope we can get out of here soon." "They told me my leg should heal within two months. I don't know about you. Sir." "You could leave the formalities behind. Trip is fine." "John.", answers the man.

Before they could continue the conversation, the front door opens and a young, twenty-something nurse walks into the room, carrying a telephone. "Welcome back, Dr. Manjak. She's been calling for the past twenty-four hours." "Who?", asks Manjak. "Your wife", replies the nurse. "How long have I been out?", asks Manjak, worried and curious. "Three days", replies the nurse, handing him the phone, "You had a lot of blood loss and resulting hypoxia. It took a while to stabilize after you went into stage 2 Hypovolemic shock shortly after the EMTs brought you here." "I lost consciousness before." "Because of the bullet's impact and physical shock", answered the nurse, as she disconnected IV tubules from his arms. "Hey honey," Manjak coughs into the phone, trying to sound as smooth as possible. Despite his anxiousness to get out, he felt very weak and, unlike his usual self, wasn't too keep on expending energy talking. "Don't worry, I'm actually all right." "Oh dear," rasps Sofia at the other end of the line. "Its so good to hear you, Trip". She stifles back tears, trying to control her sobbing. "We were here, for two days, after we first heard the news . . . and then they call us." She cries a little. "Its ok, honey, I'm fine. Doctors say I'll be up and running in don't time. How are the kids taking this?" "They've been so worried. But then, a few hours ago, the hospital calls again and tells me over the phone that you should recover, and that they hope you'll be awake soon. And all the while my heart is breaking. . . " Manjak comforts her again, as she cries tears of joy over phone. "You've been gone for so long. . " "I'm here, baby. I'll be home soon, I promise. Tell that to Max and Isabel. I'll be home soon."

"Ok. I'll tell them. Love you." "Love you too. " Sofia hangs up.

Manjak, glad that now his Sofia is no longer worrying constantly about his condition, grabs a bottle of _Dasani_ water that the nurse placed on a table by his bed and drains it. It is jubilantly refreshing. Next to the water bottle Manjak finds a remote, which he uses to turn on the TV and flip through several news channels. After finding C-SPAN showing Secretary Onassis in front of a joint session of the US Senate Agriculture and Homeland Security Committees, Manjak increases the volume to listen in onto the proceedings. About ten minutes into the program, the door swings open again, allowing a dozen people to pour in. Manjak quickly recognizes McCarthy and Ramirez amongst the faces, while the others include several city officials, police, and two surgeons. McCarthy quickly smiles, handing him a printing of yesterdays' newspaper, exclaiming, "Glad to see you're up again. Read the front page." Ramirez adds, "A pleasure to see you up, sir." "Thanks, Chief", Manjak grins weakly back, as he wrestles the copy of the Los Angeles Times from McCarthy's hands. "What is this special thing that you need me to read so quickly? I just got up like ten minutes ago., and barely finished talking to my wife." McCarthy and Ramirez simply grin in response. He scans the front page.

_Dr. Maurice Resigns as Head of FAO. Are you serious?_ The words leap at Manjak like a predatory cat does at its prey. He continues reading, absorbing the suddenness of the news. _Secretary-General Hartaagnaan Recommends immediate promotion of Deputy Director Manjak to post, pending Well-being and Recovery after Attack._ _Wow. Damn. I have to get to Rome ASAP. For both the family and the organization._ He sits up straight in the bed. "I have to get to Rome ASAP. I need to get to the airport." "Wait hold on.", the senior surgeon clasps his hand onto Manjak's chest as Manjak tries to lift himself out of the bed, "You're going nowhere, son." The elderly surgeon, who seems to be approaching seventy-something, "you've lost a lot of blood, experienced shock and been lying unconscious for three days. If you think you can merely walk around this hospital, let alone put in more 24/7 work in your organization, God bless you son, but that's daydreaming. You should stay here at least five more days to recover." "I can't. I'll recover better at home.", counters Manjak half-heartedly. _He's right, and he's the expert,_ Manjak reminds himself. _This is your duty, Manjak._ "I'll stay for two days." "Not enough," the old surgeon shakes his head. "Well, I need to go. Is there Internet access or a phone around here." "We'll get you that.", replies the surgeon. Two medical assistant rove in and start pushing Manjak's bed through the room. Taking him through the hallway, up two floors via elevator and into another room the assistants leave Manjak by a table complete with lamp, computer, and telephone. The surgeon follows, along with Ramirez and McCarthy. "We have to go.", says McCarthy, "Busy day", as he reaches for Manjak's hand, shaking it robustly. Manjak winces slightly, trying not to show it. "It was a pleasure working with you, sir. Good luck in Rome." "Likewise", agrees Ramirez. After saying quick farewells the two men leave the room, leaving Manjak with the internet humming to life while the gray-haired surgeon lingers around still trying to convince him to stay longer.

Manjak reaches for the laptop, turning it on. First he visits news sites around the world, browsing from _Novoe Russkoe Slovo_ , to _El Pais_ and _Le Monde_ to the _Washington Post_ , catching up on the latest news around the world. He then checks for airline flights to Rome. Finding a connecting flight via London-Heathrow, he takes out his credit card from his clothing piled on the table and pays the fare through the airline's website. _Yes, I'm definitely going back to Rome tomorrow_. He throws a brief glares at the surgeon's back before hitting the "Pay and Confirm" web button.

10- NIGHT OF FIRE, NIGHT OF STEEL

City Hall, LA

Hours later, after the sun has long gone down, McCarthy, Ramirez, and several hundred others are still on duty in the towering heights of City Hall and adjacent buildings. The building, illuminated by the many lights from the surrounding structures of the central business district, produces a seeming whitish-yellow haze. Much of the city is a source of the phenomenon known as 'light pollution', a large accumulated haze of nighttime light produced by millions of individual light-bulbs and fluorescent lighting systems across the urban landscape. Some may even mistake the 10:15pm local time for late dusk due to the high quantity of light pollution emanating from the center of the city, especially for those working in the upper floors of the CBD buildings.

After the recent and highly publicized attack on the relief convoy along Compton Road, the Mayor had declared a curfew between the hours of 8:00pm and 8:00am. For the past two days nightlife was cut down sharply, nightclubs and bars remained closed, people stayed indoors, and in general there was little activity in the streets. Violators were subject to immediate arrest and prosecution. Naturally, in reaction to the curfew, a protest was already being organized by grassroots organizations to be held within a weeks' time.

McCarthy was at his desk, working the late night shift checking in on inventory coming from Ohio. Ohio, being an important source of wheat, corn, and other grain crops, was not a producer of tropical fruits or vegetable crops. Despite checks several months ago, and many consultations and advice from nutritionists, the diet in the rations was heavily skewed in carbohydrates and grains, with almost no vegetables to match. Unfortunately, this scheme was based on the availability of the food material more than on the food pyramid recommended by the USDA. It was ironic that the agency had managed to fail to follow its own recommendations, but that was the nature of the situation. Now, McCarthy was trying to work on deals trying to get farms in Florida to provide more oranges, bananas, mango, and papaya. The problem, of course, lay not only in the availability of what was a quasi-cash crop but also in refrigeration for the fruit as it travelled from one end of the continent to the other. Quality transportation was in high demand and low supply.

So far, McCarthy was able pioneer a program adding dried fruits to the new West Coast diet. This eliminated the need for having to used refrigerated rail cars to transport the food, and made the food much lighter and tighter- making it easier to pack, allowing a more substantial quantity to fit in the space provided by one boxcar.

In addition to the slow moving rail lines, air freight had become one of the most important links from the Midwestern states to the West since the epizootic's outbreak. Carriers such as DHL and FedEx, as well as a large military fleet of C-5 Galaxies and Globemasters, were using LAX and SFO as huge staging areas for delivering supplies. So far, millions of tons of critical food supplies had been delivered via aircraft. The additional air traffic led to lengthened delays at all the major airports and may complaints from airlines and passengers, most of which were left ignored. There was little anyone could do about it short of building additional runways.

McCarthy catches a glimpse of a C-17 Globemaster taking off from LAX as he prints out an inventory. He watches the blinking red and green lights on the aircraft for a few moments before resuming work.

_Ah, what the heck._ McCarthy gets up from his chair and stretches, pulling at all the muscles that haven't moved for the past six hours. Excel documents and pdf. files do get boring after a while. _Maybe I need more coffee._ McCarthy walks over the coffee machine on the edge counter and helps himself to his fourth cup that day. _Ughh._ Leaning himself against the wall, he stares vacantly at the nighttime blackness dimmed by the urban glare.

Unexpectedly a huge flash explodes on the horizon. A Massive orange-yellow ball of light appears in the vicinity of the airport, dominating over all the other dimmer, steady lights on the horizon. What looks like a fiery fireball mushroom up into the night sky, creating a micro sun on the dark horizon. _What the shit?_ McCarthy nearly spills the coffee all over himself. _Is that an explosion? Oh, God, yes it is. What the hell would explode like that? Now?_ McCarthy slams the coffee cup onto the table, sending a brown wave flying all over the countertop and floor. Rushing over to the nearest phone, he dials Ramirez's office number. The line is already busy. He dials the city central fire department. "Hello? This is Michael McCarthy of the USDA, Deputy Relief Coordinator. I've just witnessed a huge explosion near the airport. I saw a large fireball, it still seems to be burning as far as I can tell." "We have already been alerted, Mr. McCarthy. We are sending units as we speak." "Alright. Good." McCarthy hangs up. The object that exploded had now begun to burn in earnest, producing a strong orange-yellow glow. McCarthy calls the Commissioner again, and after getting a busy line again decides to head down to the police command center himself. McCarthy practically flies down the several flights of stairs, wondering to himself how this new incident will play out.

Entering the futuristic war room, McCarthy is confronted by a scene of seemingly organized chaos. The city Mayor, red eyed, is standing looking at one of the two main screens, which show what seems to be a huge oil well ablaze. _What?! Isn't that?. . ._ McCarthy blinks his eyes, connecting the dots as he figures out he is staring at a picture of one of the airports' kerosene fuel farms, used to store Jet A kerosene fuel. Ablaze. The tank is only partially recognizable as a tank, as a gaping hole has been blown threw the side and top of the structure. The fire, burning uncontrollably, is recorded from a camera of a police helicopter circling around the blaze. As he watches, a firefighting helicopter approaches but slow down, hesitant to approach the massive inferno. Clearly not interested in getting caught in the wind tunnel that the blaze is creating, the helicopter sweeps off to the side and dumps its water load over an adjacent tank also ablaze, though less severely. McCarthy hears a captain roar to one of his subordinates some complaint about the helicopter direction and coverage, wary and suspicious of the possibility that this incident may also have been started by saboteurs or unknown malicious elements. The subordinate lieutenant rapid fires the Captain's instructions over the radio.

Ramirez quickly appears at the Captain's side. McCarthy hears a few exchanges about "danger" and "wind swirls" between the two men, and as he watches the screen two fire-trucks come racing along an adjacent avenue. Like ants, firefighters sweep out of the vehicles and set up the hoses and waters cannons against the blaze, now pouring into the night sky reminiscent of a locust swarm on the plains. Jets of foaming water soon hurl themselves against the wall of flames now fighting its way towards the firefighters.

McCarthy hears one Sergeant mutter "this does not look good" to himself. His co-worker gives him a quick admonishing glare at the remark. Another line of firetrucks and police cruisers appear on screen at the site, swarming the area with officers and firemen.

"Sir, we have something else.", calls out a lieutenant from the left corner of the command center. The Captain and Commissioner head over to the corner stations, where the Detective puts up an camera image from a squad car showing a crowd of rambunctious people tearing around garbage cans and throwing what seems to be a homemade grenade at the squad car. The camera backs away as the car retreats. Ramirez inquires with a one word questions- "Where?" "Garden Grove Plaza, sir. They are tearing up the place. A shower of rocks, bottles, and beer cans suddenly comes towards the camera. The cops on scene, turn the car around quickly and head in the other direction.

"Get me a street view on CCTV." "Nearest CCTV coverage is at street junction Lampson Ave and Brookhurst. We won't be able to monitor from those cameras, sir, unless the crowd moves that way." "I want a battalion up there at once. Full gear." "Yes, sir.", answers the Captain. With no visual assessment of the situation in the city's southern district, the Captain takes over, directing the deployed riot control squads over the radio. Incessant radio chatter ensues, McCarthy barely making sense of it all. Ramirez walks over to McCarthy quietly, asking, "McCarthy. Aren't you supposed to be going over our logistics?" "Yes. I came here to warn you about the fuel explosion when I saw it and the line was busy. Do you want me to leave?" "No. Just stay out of the way. And, since you're one of the big fishes still around here that aren't force officers, could you do me a favor and entertain any media pukes who show up and explain to them that everything is under control." "I'll do my best." "Good." Ramirez turns back towards his staff sergeant, just in time to receive another startling report.

"We have a another situation in La Habra. Two gangs from the area seem to have picked this time to start a fight. We have reports of shootings." "Perfect. Just perfect", is the sarcastic reply. "Sir?" "The district units? What's their situation?" "Trying to keep clear, sir." "Make sure they do; and back them up with the 15th and 17th battalions." "On it, sir."

The Sergeant turns to the communications officer, relaying the Chief's orders. The Officer changes two of the half dozen screens at his console to project the images from the squad cars in the field. In addition to several squad cars, two armored buses full of heavily-armed SWAT are sent over as well.

Meanwhile, the crowd at Garden Grove broke into several shops, looting valuables and breaking furniture and merchandise. A police car gets hit by a two molotovs simultaneously, shattering the windshield and torching the interior of the cars. The officers jump out in an instant, rolling on the ground. A wave of uncontrollable and wildness sweeps the assembled crowd, as they jump around like fleas from one parked car to another, breaking windows, stealing GPS systems, and causing general mayhem. It was quickly clear that the situation had turned from an unruly gathering to an urban riot.

After another ten minutes, the main battalions begin arriving several blocks from the rioters and dismounting from the buses. Preparing riot shields and batons, the officers assemble into a line in preparation to push the chaotic crowds away from the shops and businesses. Chief Ramirez, observing the various footage coming in multiple car and personel cameras and video recording equipment, silently wonders what to make of it all. This unrest was entirely uncalled for; even though hunger and even malnutrition were creeping up amongst the city's population, so far the USDA's efforts at managing the city had not left such a huge percentage of the people in desperate need. However, it seems that that assessment must be mistaken, considering the number of people causing anarchy on the streets.

The Commissioner ponders if this could all be another ploy by some of the criminal leaders to devote his forces across the city. With his forces currently dealing with three incidents simultaneously, perhaps they think that they could strike at another major target while security forces were unavailable. The first conceivable target would, of course, be the make-shift granaries at the airports and rail stations.

Immediately upon suspecting this to be the criminals' plan, Ramirez quickly orders a flight of helicopters and armored SWAT cars be prepared for dispatch to those exact locations. "Get me the National Guard. I want troops protecting granaries and all key transport hubs-especially LAX and Union Station!" Ramirez is handed a phone by an aide. "Get me General McSteele on the line. . . . . Yes, we have two civil disturbances underway right now. We are dealing with them, but I recommend your troops at our depots be on high alert; I suspect that the rioters are a diversion. . . Yes, of course. We are making sure that doesn't happen as we speak. Will do." The Commissioner puts down the phone, turning back to the screen.

Out on the street, James Watson, Lieutenant in the LAPD, knew that this was going to be a long night. Joining the force in the aftermath of the 1992 riots, the department was more than happy to accept African-Americans onto the team to increase its standing within the community. However, those riots were entirely different from the ones occurring now. The city had often been associated with crime and unruly elements, both historically and through negatively based media attention. That image had slowly been turned around over the years as social problems were slowly solved and issues settled. The people had been given what they wanted, be it justice, fairness, or equality. Ahead of him, his squad had formed a line twenty-four strong and were preparing to push back the tumultuous waves of ruffians who had seemingly sprung out of nowhere to wreck havoc on the streets of Los Angeles.

Now, though, a new kind of situation had sprung its ugly head. When people are deprived of their most basic needs, the behavior changes all the more for the unpredictable. You never could know or predict how a deprived person would react, but you could rest assured that it wasn't going to be pretty. The last couple of months had brought strange new happenings to the city, as many people felt left alone and without adequate support by the government- even though the FEMA authorities were making sure that every individual was supplied with enough calories for a living. Criminals had changed trafficking from drugs and weapons to food, the kind of trafficking that would be found in a third-world country-but not here in the US.

Watson didn't make much of it all. He simply knew he had to do his job in order to help maintain what remained of a semblance to civil order in the metropolis. And that included dispersing people who were behaving as if the world was ending tomorrow. . . .

"All right men, you know the drill!" he roars over the din of burning buildings and mob yelling. "No deadly force!" The officers start moving forward, riot shields immediately taking in a barrage of rocks, caps, and a molotov cocktail. The cocktail fizzles, and then burns, splattering burning gasoline across the asphalt. Ignoring the hazy smoke, the officers continue, slowly treading their way over broken glass ,wood, and bits of concrete. Ash and particulate matter fills the air. Suddenly a group of twenty odd rioters turns towards the line, charging in fury. Armed with baseball bats, rocks, liquor bottles, and a shovel the mob comes swinging the oddball weaponry at the officer line. The two groups clash. An officer swings with his riot shield, hitting a rioter across the chess and face. The man falls, dropping a knife. Another takes a swing with a bat at an officer, impacting the uniformed man's helmet. The Officer staggers. The officer's colleague swings back with his baton. Chaos erupts as all-out fighting erupts. Punches are thrown, kicks, jabs, plastic and glass shoved into men's faces, abdomens, and other body parts. After a series of bloody punches, bruises, and full knockouts from wooden sticks and plexi-glass shields, what is left of the mob crowd breaks and runs. Another dozen quick-footed backup officers give chase, roughing down several more rioters to the ground and hand-cuffing them. The riot line advances, leaving behind three officers wounded on the road and over two dozen rioters bloodied and bruised on the pavement. The remainder flee into the night.

Watson surveys the scene, instructing his men to bring the newly-handcuffed prisoners to a street corner two blocks down, where they will wait until the police could figure out where to keep them. Another square of vandalism suppressed. After reporting the area cleared to headquarters, Watson readies his remaining officers to head to the next city block.

A far uglier situation started near Union Station, where several old warehouses were being used as granaries by the administration. As Ramirez had suspected, in an uncannily coordinated effort two large groups of minivans and pick-up trucks had descended upon the granaries after the riots started in the southern and western areas of the city. The granary depots, some warehouses and others department stores and strip malls, were only several blocks away from the City Hall itself. The National Guard had promised a group of reinforcements, but they wouldn't arrive there for another fifteen minutes. That left the LAPD and SWAT to fend for themselves. Upon seeing the officers, field reports indicated that they did not even slow down, nor identify themselves. Opening fire immediately, the gangsters decided to take out every officer in sight and take what they could. Ramirez had made sure that there was a sizable and well-equipped force on hand, and made it clear to keep the gangsters distracted until the Guard units showed up from the north and encircled them.

A giant firefight erupted when the gangsters poured out of their trucks and opened up indiscriminate fire in all directions. Several minivans backed up into the one of the massive depots near the rail tracks and unleashed loads of masked men. Upon seeing the doors to the warehouses locked, the gangsters turned to another plan. A pickup truck behind them came up with two men carrying RPGs, who promptly blasted a hole straight through the walls of the storage building. Men in ski masks swarmed inside, and like a crew of professionals, went to work immediately taking boxes and crates to the minivans.

Three blocks away, the armed gangsters' escorts were duking it out with the police, exchanging heavy weapons fire with the cops, who were using anything they could as cover.

The fire could be heard even through the thick windows of City Hall, over ten floors above ground level and a half a kilometer away. McCarthy, who had gone back to his office shortly after conversing with Ramirez, now once again stood staring out his window at the cityscape. He spots two police helicopters flying in directly over City Hall towards the rail depots, their rotors thunder breaking through the distance chatter of weapons fire. _This is insane_ ; McCarthy tries to convince himself. _This city must really be going nuts or something_.

But, he reminds himself that, bad as it is, it could be worse. Several countries around the world had declared martial law in response to massive civil unrest, ethnic clashes, violent protests, and armed uprisings. Two countries in Africa were in the process of splitting in two, while South Africa had erupted in a wave of violence that left a weak government barely in control of the country. Massive street demonstrations in several southern Chinese cities had been crushed and military law imposed. There were once again rumors of war in Southern Asia as Pakistan now eyed the fertile Ganges river basin as a last bastion of agriculture in the region, a vital resource that was feeding its rival India instead. Brazil had started a vicious new campaign to tear down its remaining rainforest, not only searching for new exotic decomposing species but creating massive tracts of new farmland. For the most part unaffected and isolated by its location, the Brazilian government saw an opportunity to become a true agricultural superpower in a time of global need.

Here in California at least, the situation was being handled and people were kept away from starvation. Nonetheless the increase in theft and violent crime had jumped as food became a much more valuable commodity than it was before.

The battle around the depot raged. Ramirez instructed his forces to dig in, and make sure the large gang were kept in place. He knew it was a matter of ten minutes before the National Guard would be at the scene. The field reports were talking of many casualties on both sides, military-grade grenades being thrown, officers even being hit by a sniper. The gangs were becoming better organized, adapting to the new climate. The control center was abuzz with reports from all across the city, delivering successes and retreats of the LAPD. One riot had been put down, and over three hundred people arrested. Two more were still ongoing, with police forces scattered by a large mob where backup had not come in time.

Over two hundred officers were hunkered down by trash cans, cars, and low lying walls near the depots, exchanging fire with the raiding party. One gangster had tried to use a pickup truck to run over the officers, but the glass of the vehicle strained after a bullet barrage, shattering and killing the driver. The vehicle continued pilotless, as officers dodged out of the way. It slammed into a building and a fire started in its engine.

One of the officers radioed in a large UHaul Truck moving southwards along N Main Street. Southwards? The officers in the control room immediately suspect the destination: Twin Towers Correctional Facility, the world's largest jail, and only several blocks south from the current war zone. The facility, composed of two large gray blocks of concrete over eight stories high above ground, houses over four hundred inmates. The large truck increases its velocity, plowing down the avenue. Officers at the gate to the Twin Towers unholster their guns, the gates security cameras giving the officers in the control room a clear coverage of the mayhem to about to happen. Soon the truck appears on screen.

The guards open fire, plastering the truck with hundreds of rounds. The driver, probably hiding or killed by the fire, is not seen through the windshield. The black and white image blurs a bit, a shakes as the truck crashes through the gate with a loud bang.

The LA County Sheriff's office, located across Bauchet street a hundred meters from the Correctional facility, sends out all of its reserves officers. Two of the officers immediately realize that the truck could be full of armed assailants, and take cover with a view towards the truck's rear door. As if on cue, the rear door wooshes skywards, revealing over a dozen armed men inside. The officers fire several shots in succession at the crowded truck, taking down four mobsters before the remainder jump out and return fire. Another deadly gun battle begins, as the assailants attempt to fight their way into the prison. The Sheriff's office proves to be a obstacle to be reckoned with, as they take down two more armed gangsters while the rest escape around the truck and through the mangled and torn gate. The security cameras capture the masked men as they break glass doors leading into the prison with the butts of their rifles, pushing into the complex. Shouts of "Kill the pigs!" and "free the prisoners!" are heard over the voice receiver. Inside the facility, the prison guards open fire with grenades and shotguns from entrenched positions behind corners and low walls. CCTV images show the firefight break out between the prison staff and assaulting gangsters, before the lights are hit and the corridors are plunged into darkness.

Outside the prison, the officer's from the Sheriff's office move in cautiously towards the prison, cuffing one injured but still alive mobster on the ground while looking for any others. A kilometer to the north, a column of armored Humvees makes its way southward, sealing off the gang's escape routes to the north and west. _C'mon, c'mon._ Ramirez prays for the National Guard to hurry. His men, fighting for their lives to the east, have used an Elementary school as a base from which they pushed back the mobsters' defense to a row of three warehouses by a small estuary.

Moving at a quick pace along N Main street, the Guard convoy slows down near the Golden Gate Freeway overpass. Arriving at the huge supply depot, the Humvees are quickly noticed by the mob, who open fire. The Guard vehicles disperse, forming a large semi-circle to prevent movement by the mob. The TOW missiles mounted on top of the guard Humvees soon explode into action, hitting two of the mob escape vans. Mobsters flee from the burning vehicles. An RPG rips through the darkness, arcing towards a Humvee. The vehicle swerves but is hit in the rear, lurching it into a spin. The man holding the rocket launcher collapses after quick return fire. His buddies yell, firing back wildly. Two Guardsmen go down, clutching at their body armor. More heavy fire is exchanged.

Another three minutes into the fight, it becomes obvious to the gangsters that they are outmatched. Several drop their guns and run towards a small stream, hoping to escape. Other runs towards the fences. The last, most desperate keep fighting, realizing that their backs are now to a wall and that there is no escape. Two helicopters arrive, showering the gangsters' refuge in a rain of iron and steel. Over a dozen suddenly throw aside their arms and raise their hands in the air, losing all hope. However, two who don't merely change their aim from the National Guard units to their former comrades, releasing them from this mortal coil. Snipers take out the two assassins. Soon, it is over as the remaining gang members either drop their weapons to the ground or flee. Those fleeing are soon pursued by quick-footed cops with handcuffs and K9 units. A low cheer erupts throughout the LAPD control room as the battle's end becomes apparent. Ramirez breathes a quiet sign of relief.

Many other smaller riots still are in full force, causing chaos throughout other districts. The main two disruptions that erupted in Garden Grove and Pico Rivera were quieting down. But the gangsters' planned assault and raid on the city's food stores had been foiled for the most part. Helicopter images show dozens of gangsters being handcuffed and led away to arriving police trucks in the depot's wide open parking lot. Ramirez gives a quick word of congratulations to his men as he instructs his officers to hold the gangsters at the location until the Twin Towers Correctional Facility is secured once again. Shortly thereafter in an ironic twist of fate, half an hour later the very same gangsters who attacked the facility to free the prisoners and criminals inside now found themselves prisoners in the very same prison they were attempting the liberate. Three hours later into the night the first rays of dawn broke out onto the city coming back to life.

09 EPIPHANIES

New York City

Perhaps it was due to seeing the desperate violence and wantonness caused by wretched lives that finally made Governments around the world reconsider the United Nations Resolution 1555. Perhaps it was Hartaagnaan's ability to speak clearly and willfully, or perhaps it was Zihgneg Nahk's ability to persuade quietly, that drove consensus. Perhaps it was a newfound trust in the organs of the multinational body, lead by leaders like Trevor Manjak and Bao Feng.

Whatever the reasons, another special session was called to reevaluate the status of Resolution 1555. Perhaps it was the politicians around the world who saw that, if nothing was done, they too would be included in the global extinction event along with the masses of supporters who voted them into office, in the cases where they were voted in at all. Resolution 1555 passed 143-26 and was adopted by all members of the United Nations, with all participatory nations pledging to begin following the plan in order to upholster the world's agricultural infrastructure, and start working towards less soil-independent means of growing food.

Wars cold and hot between neighboring countries began to die down after the passage of Resolution 1555. Brushfires in Africa were cut short, India and Pakistan began slowly lowering their national alert levels, and martial law was lifted in Russia and China. A new sense of hope crept into people's lives, a breath of fresh air that replaced old pungent scents with nascent new ones. It would take a large effort on the part of nations and peoples to put aside their distrust and individualistic tendencies and begin working together on the projects outlined under Resolution 1555.

The first materials for the conversion of several skyscrapers in New York were visible to passing pedestrians on the streets of the city. Workers are seen carrying large tanks to be fitted into floors of previously abandoned buildings in areas of the Brooklyn and Harlem. Construction material for several design-specific vertical farming skyscrapers are piling up at several sites all along the West Side, as the first girders are placed and the steel beams take shape. Each one of the new planned "Farmscrapers" is expected to feed over 50,000 Manhattanites. The number of urban gardens multiplied threefold in the last month, as small landowners start pitching in neighbors and friends to build small close knit plots of fruits and vegetables, all without the use of soil. The world famous rooftop garden atop the Rockefeller Center has begun hosting tomato plants, with plans to add lettuce and apples in the near future. In the new twist of events, the new greenery of the Big Apple had started to turn the city that never sleeps into an unlikely producer of big apples.

Trevor "Trip" Manjak had returned to the City, as events and conferences were wrapping up. Hobbling on one leg, he still managed to get himself through from LA to NY in one piece, even managing to wade through the sea of diplomats that tended to crowd at the UN headquarters. The doctors had finally allowed him to leave, without crutches, leaving Manjak with a limp and pain in his left chest. Other than that, he felt as back in fighting shape as he had ever been. There was one last meeting with Haartaagnan himself before returning to Rome, where FAO was hosting a conference for hundreds of biologists and engineers, going over plans for the development of the new farmscraper cities in Africa, Latin America, and Asia. Manjak walked under the hundred sixty-six fluttering flags feeling as if a new man.

Manjak walks briskly through the marbled halls straight into Haartaagnan's office, on the 38th floor of the Secretarial Tower. Bright sunlight floods reflects off the glinting skyscrapers of New York's East Side, flooding the spacious office with illumination. Manjak pauses for a moment as several dignitaries from Cameroon exit the office, nodding briefly to him as they pass by. Manjak walks in, greeting the Secretary General. "I see you've recovered quickly, as we all hoped you would. ", quips Haartaagnan, "It would have been unfortunate if I would have needed to begin a search for Maurice's replacement."

Houston, TX

Upon learning of the upheaval in Los Angeles, Krishnan decided to return to the University of Texas Medical Center. He logs into his computer, and files away several documents that he didn't attend to in his rush out to Los Angeles a few months back. Next he opens the hundred or so business letters that have piled up in his mailbox during his absence.

The phone rings. "Hello? Dr. Krishnan speaking." "Hey I'm finally out!", a voice with a slight Russian accent replies, "No thanks in small part to you." "Viktor! So you're out already, that's great. So you left that text message for me, I presume? How did you know you were getting arrested? Why didn't you tell them about Medina's involvement, or his culpability? I've got a lot of questions I would like to get some answers on." "Patience, my friend.", purrs Konovalov over the phone, "I'll explain everything. Perhaps we shouldn't be talking about this over the phone." "Perhaps you're right", Krishnan quickly realizes, "Where are you now?" "I'm in Washington, but I should be back in Texas later today. I have an idea, something I figured we should try. All this time, and it took some silent thinking in jail for me to realize the solution was sitting in front of us the whole time." "What solution? The re-growing agricultural growth and redevelopment or something like that that the UN has adopted?" "No. Another, perhaps much simpler solution- Xerophytes."

"Xerophytes? Like for example, the pear cactus? Someone must have tried engineering one. And the need doesn't really exist anymore, now that the whole world is developing and entirely new base for growing food."

"More specific. Vegetables such as celery and rhubarbs, a fruit, are much more hardy than say wheat or tomatoes. But these all still require soil in which to grow. However, cacti such as the one you mentioned live in deserts, where soil quality is low and is supplanted by sand as well. Worm populations virtually nonexistent."

"So you want to feed people on pear cacti-rhubarb hybrids? What about onions, they are from the steppes of Central Asia, aren't you considering them?"

"Not quite. Several different hybrids, to be precise. I was talking to a few botanists while imprisoned, and they recommended a mixture of berries, Saskatoons, pears, hard kiwis, artichoke, various onions. Plants that would survive in more arid, colder environments."

"Last time I checked the planet was warming up. And I don't know if anyone has mentioned this to you, but we've progressed past the cave man stage of evolution some time ago. Berries and nuts have been off the menu for a while now, Viktor. I simply don't see the potential that you see. Not with the advances in horticulture and aquaculture that we have had in the last few decades."

"You're a pessimist.", huffs Konovalov dryly. "No, just a realist." "Bah. I'll talk to you later then. You going to California?" "Not for a few weeks, not with the mess going on there now." "Okay. Take care my friend. And thank you very much for your help. " _Whats' gotten into him_? wonders Krishnan. After hanging up Krishnan returns to reorganizing his office.

Intent on preventing Krishnan from having a free hour, the phone quickly rings again. It turns out to be Dr. Wang calling from UCLA, having taken over Krishnan's duties as chief scientist of the Epidemic Investigation and Prevention Team.

"What is it now?" huffs Krishnan, "I just got back from Washington, Wang. Like twenty minutes ago. This better be important."

"I thought you might like to know that we found two specimens of Giant Palouse, and are keeping them in a secure and self-sustaining tank. Dr. Rodriguez is looking after them. As expected, no other live worms were recovered from the area where they were found. We also have gotten more police security around the buildings as a result of the recent shakeup at NBACC. Who knows if there are other delinquents who may wish to impede our progress for no logical reason."

"That's great news Wang. Have the worms started mating yet?" "Yes. Though Rodriguez reminded me that we don't know how long until the cocoon hatches or how long it takes for the embryos to reach maturity." "Regardless, that's great. Maybe we can eventually repopulate." "That will takes years, decades, before the Giant Palouse can take over as the world's primary detritovore." "That's why Resolution 1555 was adopted. Politicians finally got their heads out of the ground and realized we needed a new approach. . . a truly new approach to deal with this and prevent similar happenings in the future. I hope we all learn something from this.

We grow, we change, we evolve. But of course, why am I saying this to you. You already know my views."

"Of course." "Anything else?" "Nothing at the moment. The city seems rather tense." "I'll bet. Curfew still in place? It is calmer now?" "Not really. As you saw in the news we just had a massive riot two nights ago. Huge, I woke up around 5:00am by several police sirens' near the campus. Of course I wouldn't go back to sleep after that. I watched some of the news live as the National Guard took on some gangs who were inciting people to riot and everything. That's also the main reason why we have so much security around here now, although we are also concerned about people like Mr. Medina."

"Ok. As the saying goes, -keep a cap on things until I get back. Or something like that." Krishnan hangs up. _At least we found two Giant Palouses._ _Just about the only stroke of real luck I've seen since this disaster epic started._ After cleaning up a few last things, Krishnan decides to visit Konovalov, make sure he's okay, and then return to the City of Angels.

Los Angeles

McCarthy woke up in his hotel room, listening to the morning sounds outside his window. Traffic had started up again. The breeze of cologne, perfume, buses, gasoline, and rubber filled the air along with the talking and shouting of people heading to work. Only three days after the huge midnight riots, it seemed that things were going back to normal. There were broken neighborhoods, and burnt cars in many areas, and stolen items, and missing food. But it seemed that the city was tired, tired of fighting, tired of individuals trying to get their way by force and deceit. People were more interested in working together, rather than each neighborhood and each community having to fend for themselves. People wanted to go back to their normal lives, without checkpoints, food stamps, or curfews. A welcome change in the city's attitude that had occurred only in the past week.

A demonstration had marched through the streets yesterday. But there was no disturbance, no fighting, and very few arguments that had accompanied it. Rather, it was the expression of a collective will, what the people wanted.

Needless to say, a murky view of a bright future.

McCarthy quickly shaves, dresses, and walks the two blocks to the city hall. An aide informs him of a phone call for him the moment he enters office. Picking up the phone, the aide whispers that it is Onassis. "Hello?" "Mike. So have you gotten the memo?" "What memo?", asks McCarthy confused. He leans over, seeing several letters on his desk. "The one from me." Turning over the letters, he finds a memo addressed to him from the Secretary's office in Washington. "McCarthy. . . "Onassis pauses. "There is a job offering for you here in Washington- Deputy Secretary." "Deputy S-e-cre-tary?. . . ",stutters McCarthy, "of what?" "USDA. I'm going into retirement. With the passage of Resolution 1555, the President feels that we should be back on our feet within six months, and completely recovered in a year. I'm stepping down in three months. Your decision, of course."

Overwhelmed yet secretly exhilarated at the same time, McCarthy swallows, thinking through his options carefully. "I have to consider this. But, my many thanks for offering me the opportunity, . . .sir." "Looking forward to your reply." answers Onassis before hanging up the phone.

_Why is he retiring?_ wonders McCarthy privately. _Is it the stress? The feeling that the worst of this is over, that he can retire in dignity and with honor?_ No matter. McCarthy decides to accept the opportunity as part of the many greater changes happening all around him, for the better. _I'll take it as a response; as an award to my many months here away from San Francisco, away from my kid, away from my home_. Perhaps in the new position, he would be better able to effect change. _What is change?_ _Everyone has a different interpretation of what constitutes progressive, beneficial change. Time for making a change in our new world. . . ._

EPILOGUE

When in the course of human events, disastrous occurrences pass, people will either be conjoined together in an effort to surpass the new obstacles presented or disjoined and dissolved by the forces at work. It is, ultimately, in the best interests of the species to work together to overcome such potentially divisive and damaging occurrences, be they natural or manmade. Eventually, the realization that the entirety of the history of the species has passed on one small, insignificant rock in a expanse of nearly empty vacuum will soon dawn in the minds the slowly progressing, but still primitive bipedals that inhabit that rock. Inhabiting all six continents of the globe, the species has relied on for a significant portion of its history on the work of other, non-sentient species in order to build a more perfect union. For many Millenia, the species has domesticated a wide and varied range of other species to build the foundations of the their civilization, which arguably has been the invention of agriculture, more than any other technological breakthrough. This breakthrough, more than any other, is the single most potent force in the species development and advancement through the stages of civilization. However, in addition to the domesticated species many other, smaller, and less visible species have contributed to the development, destruction, and rebirth of many of the individual politically, geographically, and socially distinct cultures of _homo sapiens_ across the globe.

World shaking occurrences bridge the gap between the species' cultures. But just as important as unity is to this species, culture has a special place in their hearts and minds. The development of language, customs, traditions, and religions have given the species, bound originally by geographic locale, something special to cherish. It is this individual culture that gives them strength, something to make one of them unique from the rest. Over time, culture has manifested itself into politically distinct units. As the blue rock shrank, politically people have come together, for the first time in the species' history every political unit represented in one organization. But the culture gives them individuality, a strength, a uniqueness well worth to be preserved long into the future, best done through that medium which has sufficed so far; namely geography.

It is suffice to say that the blue rock is becoming inadequate. The species, like their ancestors before them, have become many, and will soon be seeing new lands in which to make their home. This time, let them not look at distant mountain ranges to trek, nor vast murky oceans to cross, but rather to the stars to explore, and conquer.

The species, evolved from their violent ancestors, have always been conquerors. Like their non-sentient relatives, they must acquire new lands and resources in which to build new civilizations. But let the species pause for a moment, think, and reconsider. There is nothing left to conquer on the blue rock. But, by luck or design, if one takes a glance upwards, there are a million rocks ready to be conquered.

APPENDIX

REFERENCES:

Edwards, Clive E. Earthworm Ecology. 2nd edition. Boca Raton: CRC, 2004. Print.

A Guide to Information at the United Nations. Dept. of Public Information. New York, NY 10017. UN Publications Sales No. E.95.I.4

Pringle, Peter. Food Inc: Mendel to Monsanto-The Promises and Perils of the Biotech Harvest. Simon & Schuster. 2003. Print.

INTERNET REFERENCES:

"Crop Protection." Monsanto Co. Web. 3 Sept. 2009. <monsanto.com>.

_Animal and Health Inspection Service_. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture. Web. 3 Sept. 2009. <http://www.aphis.usda.gov/>

_San Joaquin Delta College (Degrees)_. San Joaquin Delta College. Web. 5 Sept. 2009. <http://www.deltacollege.edu/info/home/academic/degrees.html>.

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Many thanks to **Google.com, Inc.** and **Wikipedia.org** for their freedom of information access. Completion of this project would have been futile without their online resources.

US Copyright Office Registration Number 1-409757941. All Rights Reserved.

 Ashbel Smith Building "Old Red". http://www.utmbcare.com/tour/18.htm

 "World's Most Advanced Microscope Unveiled" http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/10/081020120050.htm

 "CDC May Ship Killer Virus to US Labs". <http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9981047/>

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Gammon, Crystal. "Weed-Whacking Herbicide proves Deadly to Human Cells". Scientific American. 6/23/2009.  http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=weed-whacking-herbicide-p

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