Target Zero. Джек Марс

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СКАЧАТЬ subbed in for Professor Hildebrandt, who was tenured and traveled frequently for a book he was writing.

      Or maybe he’s secretly in the CIA, Reid mused.

      “Good morning,” he said loudly as he entered the classroom. Most of his students were already there when he arrived, so he hurried to the front, set his messenger bag on the desk, and shrugged out of his tweed coat. “I’m a few minutes late, so let’s jump right in.” It felt good being in the classroom again. This was his element—at least one of them. “I’m sure someone in here can tell me: what was the most devastating event, by death toll, in European history?”

      “World War Two,” someone called out immediately.

      “One of the worst worldwide, to be sure,” Reid replied, “but Russia fared a lot poorer than Europe did, by the numbers. What else you got?”

      “The Mongol conquest,” said a brunette girl in a ponytail.

      “Another good guess, but you guys are thinking armed conflicts. What I’m thinking is less anthropogenic; more biological.”

      “Black Death,” muttered a blond kid in the front row.

      “Yes, that is correct, Mister.…?”

      “Wright,” the kid answered.

      Reid grinned. “Mr. Wright? I bet you use that as a pickup line.”

      The kid smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

      “Yes, Mr. Wright is right—the Black Death. The pandemic of the bubonic plague started in Central Asia, traveled down the Silk Road, was carried to Europe by rats on merchant ships, and in the fourteenth century it killed an estimate seventy-five to two hundred million people.” He paced for a moment to punctuate his point. “That’s a huge disparity, isn’t it? How could those numbers be so far spread?”

      The brunette in the third row raised her hand slightly. “Because they didn’t have a census bureau seven hundred years ago?”

      Reid and a few other students chuckled. “Well, sure, there’s that. But it’s also because of how quickly the plague spread. I mean, we’re talking about more than a third of Europe’s population gone inside of two years. To put it in perspective, that would be like having the entire East Coast and California wiped out.” He leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “Now I know what you’re thinking. ‘Professor Lawson, aren’t you the guy that comes in and talks about war?’ Yes, and I’m getting to that right now.

      “Someone mentioned the Mongol conquest. Genghis Khan had the largest contiguous empire in history for a brief time, and his forces marched on Eastern Europe during the years of the plague in Asia. Khan is credited as one of the first to use what we now classify as biological warfare; if a city would not yield to him, his army would catapult plague-infected bodies over their ramparts, and then… they’d just have to wait a while.”

      Mr. Wright, the blond kid in the front row, wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That can’t be real.”

      “It is real, I assure you. Siege of Kafa, in what is now Crimea, 1346. See, we want to think that something like biological warfare is a new concept, but it is not. Before we had tanks, or drones, or missiles, or even guns in the modern sense, we, uh… they, uh…”

      “Why do you have this, Reid?” she asks accusingly. Her eyes are more afraid than they are angry.

      At his mention of the word “guns,” a memory suddenly flashed across his mind—the same memory as before, but clearer now. In the kitchen of their former home in Virginia. Kate had found something while cleaning dust from one of the air conditioning ducts.

      A gun on the table—a small one, a silver nine-millimeter LC9. Kate gestures at it like a cursed object. “Why do you have this, Reid?”

      “It’s… just for protection,” you lie.

      “Protection? Do you even know how to use it? What if one of the girls had found it?”

      “They wouldn’t—”

      “You know how inquisitive Maya can be. Jesus, I don’t even want to know how you got it. I don’t want this thing in our house. Please, get rid of it.”

      “Of course. I’m sorry, Katie.” Katie—the name you reserve for when she’s angry.

      You gingerly take the gun from the table, as if you’re not sure how to handle it.

      After she leaves for work you’ll have to retrieve the other eleven hidden throughout the house. Find better spots for them.

      “Professor?” The blond kid, Wright, glanced at Reid in concern. “You okay?”

      “Um… yeah.” Reid straightened and cleared his throat. His fingers ached; he’d gripped the edge of the desk hard when the memory struck him. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

      There was no doubt now. He was certain he had lost at least one memory of Kate.

      “Um… sorry, guys, but suddenly I’m not feeling so great,” he told the class. “It just kind of hit me. Let’s, uh, leave off there for today. I’ll give you some reading, and we’ll pick it up on Monday.”

      His hands shook as he recited the page numbers. Sweat prickled on his brow as students filed out. The brunette girl from the third row paused by his desk. “You don’t look so good, Professor Lawson. Do you need us to call someone?”

      A migraine was forming at the front of his skull, but he forced a smile that he hoped was pleasant. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. Just need some rest.”

      “Okay. Feel better, Professor.” She too left the classroom.

      As soon as he was alone, he dug in the desk drawer, found some aspirin, and swallowed them with water from a bottle in his bag.

      He sat in the chair and waited for his heart rate to slow. The memory hadn’t just had a mental or emotional impact on him—it had a very real physical effect as well. The thought of losing any part of Kate from his memory at all, when she had already been taken from his life, was nauseating.

      After a few minutes the sick feeling in his gut began to subside, but not the thoughts swirling in his mind. He couldn’t make any more excuses; he had to make a decision. He would have to determine what he was going to do. Back at home, in a box in his office, he had the letter that told him where he could go for help—a Swiss doctor named Guyer, the neurosurgeon who had installed the memory suppressor in his head in the first place. If anyone could help to restore his memories, it would be him. Reid had spent the last month vacillating back and forth on whether or not he should at least attempt to regain his full memory.

      But parts of his wife were gone, and he had no way of knowing what else might have been washed out with the suppressor.

      Now he was ready.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      “Look at me,” said Imam Khalil in Arabic. “Please.”

      He took the boy by the shoulders, a paternal gesture, and knelt slightly so that he was eye to eye with him. “Look at me,” he said again. It was not a demand, but a gentle request.

      Omar СКАЧАТЬ