Overwatch by Mike Wolfe, Riley Flynn (Collapse: New Republic #3)
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Overview: Washington, D.C., Six Months Earlier.
“You’re likely one in a million,” the doctor said, adjusting his glasses. “We don’t have a lot to go on yet, but all evidence so far indicates the infection rate of the virus will be catastrophically high.”
That was enough to rob the humor from the moment. Chase took a breath and composed himself, motioning for the doctor to take a seat across from him. They were in the back room of a barber shop in downtown Washington that was owned and operated by one Johnny Pinetti. Johnny rarely had customers—as a retired Cold War spy, he wasn’t very good at cutting hair—and kept odd hours, mainly because he enjoyed a monthly check, funneled from a CIA slush fund through a bank in the Cayman Islands that was more than enough to cover his needs.
Chase was one of only three people with a key to the building. It had been his personal safe house for some eighteen years, since he first arrived in Washington with a freshly minted fourth star on his shoulder. Even then, he’d known the value of black ops, but over the last four years as Secretary of Defense, he found it had practically become a second home.
“I’m sorry, Ed,” he sighed. “But you have to admit, it’s ironic as hell.” Halloran’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“I’ve got an inoperable tumor in my skull that’s going to kill me, and yet when I get exposed to a weaponized virus designed to wipe out most of the human race, I’m one of the statistically insignificant percentage of people who are naturally immune to it.”
The look on Halloran’s old Irish face said he still didn’t get it; Chase just shook his head. The CDC hired doctors for their medical knowledge, not their sense of humor.
“What I meant was God’s making fun of me,” he said. “Anyway, I appreciate you expediting the results.”
“Just for the record, these were initial tests. You haven’t shown any signs of infection after twenty days, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t contract it in the future. It’s unlikely, yes, but not impossible.”
Chase laced his big fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair. The doctor’s warning was even more ironic: if Marcus Chase had learned anything in the three weeks since returning from the demilitarized zone in North Korea, it was not to waste time thinking too far into the future.
Genre: Science Fiction > Post-Apocalyptic | Genetic Engineering
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