Budapest, Hungary

October 20

Doctor Andor Rozsa was reading the latest report from the World Health Organization when the head of Pharmamediq, Incorporated tapped on his half-open office door. “Yes, sir?”

“Any progress?” the man asked.

Andor suppressed a smile. He’d received the same question every day since Pharmamediq had joined the dozens of other labs worldwide who’d suspended all other research to help search for an antivirus. Everyone was racing to isolate the stealth component of the virus, the first step in finding a cure. But he would never claim credit for that—it would raise suspicions later when he announced to the world he’d found the cure. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

His boss, as usual, frowned in disappointment, not because he was deeply concerned about the dying and the dead, but because he was well aware that the company that came up with the antivirus would make billions from the formula. “Keep at it. If you need to hire more lab technicians or whatever to speed this up, let me know.”

“Will do, sir.”

Unlike his superior, Andor was a patient man. He’d waited this long, so he didn’t mind waiting a few more weeks or months. The world was overpopulated, anyway. Someone would eventually isolate the stealth component. But even when that happened, it would still take a very long time for anyone to discover the cure. It had taken him eight months, after all, and he’d created Charon.

The antivirus grew exponentially more valuable daily. He planned to wait at least three months after the stealth component had been isolated before he announced the cure. By that time, the pandemic would have spread far and wide. Every nation would want the antivirus, and every laboratory in the world would be needed to produce it to meet the global demand.

Date: 2015-01-11; view: 704