He’d tried to reach out to the First Affiliated Hospital and was ignored at first. When he insisted upon answers, claiming that a man’s life was at stake, he was transferred to a hospital administrator, who stonewalled him. Shortly thereafter, while in the quarantine unit, the pilot died.
Dr. Basnet had seen it all before. This was a classic case of Communist Party cover-up. He took to WeChat to express his frustration and soon received a strict admonition from his superiors at the military facility. The words of the base commander were simple.
You will not speak of this again. Dismissed.
Dr. Basnet knew immediately that he would do just the opposite. Only, he’d be far more careful next time. He spent every waking moment scouring the social media groups at both GitHub and WeChat. The levels of encryption were beyond anything he’d ever practiced during his years of whistleblowing, as the Westerners called it.
He studied the combination of symbols, emojis, and written text. He began to fully understand the intentional, incorrect use to create confusion. Once he felt confident, he began to create a few posts about the unexplained illnesses that were occurring in Lhasa. He bravely went into the local hospital to videograph the dead who were being abandoned because the hospital was either overwhelmed or afraid to treat the patients.
When the pilot died, he learned the young man had no family or next of kin. So he stowed him away in the small morgue located at the infirmary. The pathology lab was small, as most autopsies were sent to the regional hospitals. It was rarely used and therefore never inspected by the military’s constantly prying eyes. In fact, the pilot’s body was the only one kept in refrigeration.
Dr. Basnet was not trained in pathology nor was he capable of identifying infectious diseases. There was an office of the CDC in Tibet, but it was controlled by Beijing, and he didn’t trust their personnel. As a result, he undertook the only course of action available to him. He posted the patient’s case notes to WeChat.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency
DARPA
675 North Randolph Street
Arlington, Virginia
The year was 1958, and the new chief scientist of an obscure arm of the defense department known as the Advanced Research Project Agency submitted a proposal to the agency’s director. Four months later, nine naval vessels departed for the mostly uninhabited Gough Island in the far reaches of the South Atlantic. The vessels carried forty-five hundred government personnel and contractors. They also carried three nuclear weapons designed to launch into the magnetosphere. This was Project Argus and it cemented the use of advanced technology into America’s war arsenal.
The concept had germinated in the panic after the successful launch of the Soviet Union’s Sputnik satellite. The Pentagon immediately raised their concerns. How can we defend our nation from an incoming nuclear warhead?
Armed with the physics evidence resulting from the Starfish Prime nuclear tests, the new agency hatched a plan. Explode nuclear weapons in Earth’s magnetosphere to create a long-lived radiation belt that would degrade the missiles.
The first detonation set off a spectacular luminous fireball, triggering a staggering blue-green aurora that captivated the thousands of onlookers. However, beyond the vividly colored night sky, the bombs failed to produce sufficient high-energy electrons to keep the shield in place long enough to deter a speeding nuclear missile.
The ill-fated death belt, as it was called, did lead to further research into electromagnetic pulse weapons. It also convinced America’s military leaders that the new agency was of vital strategic importance to the nation’s national defense.
Over the years, DARPA became known as the Imagineers of War. It’s the agency that conceived the internet, the laser, and the stealth fighter. DARPA became a uniquely nimble governmental agency, unbound by the usual red tape and constraints associated with congressional oversight. It was allowed to conduct the kind of high-risk, high-reward research that went way beyond the purview of other branches of government.
Through the use of very tight public relations control, only exposing what it wanted politicians and the public to know, the agency has succeeded in creating a massive technological research and development arm of the government while establishing a worldwide intelligence apparatus in which its operatives operated without rules.
Like its counterpart at the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, or DTRA, in nearby Fort Belvoir, DARPA scientists and operatives were looked upon as ghosts—individuals who not only created the technological gadgetry deemed necessary to protect America, but who used these advanced weapons to conduct counterinsurgency operations.
The driver picked Harper up at Fort Belvoir and barely spoke a word to her during the twenty-mile trip north to Arlington, Virginia, located across the Potomac River from DC. He navigated the black sedan onto North Randolph Street, where DARPA was located.
Harper glanced up at the sign and smiled. Her family were lineal descendants of the Virginia Randolphs. They were a prominent political family historically considered to be the most powerful in the Virginia colony even after she received statehood.
She was proud of her Randolph ancestry. She was a direct lineal descendant of Thomas Randolph, a close friend of Founding Father Thomas Jefferson. Thomas Randolph had thirteen children, including Dr. John Randolph, the former governor of Virginia, whose daughter moved to Washington, Georgia, and lived to her death. The home where Harper’s grandmother and great-grandmother lived, known as Randolph Mansion, was constructed in 1795.
Harper’s mind wandered to the two old biddies, as Joe lovingly referred to them. She missed the women who’d raised her when her mother was no longer able to. Then she thought of her mother, who was two hours away just south of Richmond. She closed her eyes to bring up the fondest memories of her mom that she could muster, but was unable to do so. All that resonated with her at the moment was their last visit together almost a year ago. It didn’t go well.
Harper’s mood had turned from apprehensive to melancholy as the driver pulled into the secured parking area at DARPA. She barely remembered him opening her car door and leading her to the secured entrance of the seven-story all-glass building. The windows contained an odd grid pattern designed to block all types of electronic intrusions. The glass panes might have enticed America’s adversaries to sneak a peek, but DARPA technology foiled their access.
“Here we are, ma’am,” said the driver as he opened the door for her. “I’ve been instructed to wait for you. I’ll be keeping your luggage in the car.”
Harper opened her eyes wide, snapping herself out of the trance that had overtaken her. “Um, yes. What? You’re going to take me back?”
“Yes, ma’am. Those are my instructions.”
“Okay.”
She walked into the building, and a rush of air-conditioned air swept over her. The lobby was quiet and unoccupied except for plainclothes security personnel and two armed guards standing on opposite ends of the open space. Harper paused and glanced around the lobby to get her bearings. Then her heart leapt.
On the other side of the glass partition stood Joe. He was dapperly dressed, as always, in one of his Tom James custom suits. He waved his right arm so that it could be seen over the X-ray machine that sat beside the full-body scanners.