Page 107 of The Hero Within
"Got what you need," Mayhew said, tugging a datapad from inside his tunic. His fingers darted over the keys. "Radisson-Meyers project. Bligh had it behind a firewall, but I got through an hour ago."
The screen flashed with information.
"Project: Chimera," he said, with a smug smile, reading through his notes. "A super plague."
"I don't understand," Eden said. "Why would you help us?"
Arik leaned back against his chair, looking stoically bored, even as his eyes scanned the room. "Derek owes me a favor. He was trying to find a way to get into Camp Ragnarök to steal some military secrets a few years ago, and I was looking to get out. I gave him what he wanted, and he gave me what I wanted. We can trust him. He doesn't like the Confederacy any more than we do."
"YouareConfederacy," she pointed out.
Mayhew smiled as he uncapped the bottle of brandy and filled his glass. "Yes, I am. Needless to say I'm doing my damnedest to overthrow the current system. Arik tells me you have information that might assist in taking down some big shots." His smile became somewhat frightening. "I want that information. Tell me what's happening out there in the Wastelands. Tell me about your plague."
Political bullshit. She sighed, and told him what she knew.
"Now your turn," she replied. "What have you got on Project: Chimera? Particularly about its cure?"
"I did a little research today," Mayhew admitted, turning his brandy glass around in slow circles on the table. "Last year, Lieutenant Bligh swept General Radisson from power. There was a court martial, mention of illegal experiments, a lot of smoke and mirrors. But they managed to keep it all off the las-screens and out of public view. According to the official memo, General Radisson resigned thanks to a terminal diagnosis he'd just received.
"But… from the information I just found on Bligh's private server, Radisson’s scientists manufactured a disease by tweaking the genetic structure of several different bacteria. They call it the Chimera Plague."
She stared at him. "Why? Why would they do that?"
Mayhew's mouth thinned unpleasantly. "It's never been used, but it was developed to counter a threat from the Northern Hegemony states. They were hit harder than we were by the revenant plague, and resources in the north are grim, especially with their winters. We've clashed with them in the past over resources. A group of their agitators unleashed anthrax upon some of our military officials a decade ago in response to a trade deal that soured, and so we dedicated a great deal of resources to finding something that could return the favor, before the Hegemony sued for peace. The project was officially sidelined, but it turns out Radisson's cousin, Nigel Wentworth, was in charge of the laboratory and he didn't get that memo—"
"Nigel Wentworth?" she asked sharply. "Any relation of Miles Wentworth?"
Mayhew's eyes looked somewhat dreamy as he leaned forward. "They're brothers. Nigel's the eldest, the scion of the Wentworth family. His baby sister, Addison, is ranked highly in the military. Miles, as the middle child, has a lot of pressure on him to succeed. Nigel's a genius, and Addison's ruthless. Miles, unfortunately, hasn't managed to achieve very much, no matter what he's turned his hand to. His father managed to get him a starring role on the Confederacy's mining expansion project, and gave him one last chance to prove himself. You might have heard of it."
No wonder Miles had been so desperate to bring the settlements to the table.
"He needed the Copperplate deal," she whispered. And desperate men could do desperate things.
There was a horrible certainty swirling through her.
"Miles knew the plague was coming. He had a plague map of all the places hit. His team was vaccinatedbeforethey arrived to officially meet us. Until then he'd been sending couriers, and we spoke over the radio several times. His initial offer was rejected."
"I wonder," Mayhew teased her, "how our dear Miles predicted a plague?"
The breath went out of her. "He knew because he unleashed it. We'd denied his first offer, and were negotiating the second. He kept pushing us to make a decision, but Bart wanted more."
She had no proof, no evidence, but the dull pit in her gut told her the truth.
Who else had access to the plague?
Who else was desperate enough to risk it?
"And Miles had a deadline to keep," Mayhew said. "He needed the mine, signed, sealed, and delivered, and so he must have decided to get rid of the competition. Confederacy miners would be vaccinated. The plague would wipe out most of the settlements, so there'd be no need to strike a bargain. He could simply swoop in and take it, and there'd be nobody to protest. It's not as though the Confederacy has much contact with the Wastelands, so the chances of anyone discovering Wentworth deliberately slaughtered thousands was obscure. He could feed the committee whatever information he wanted."
Eden breathed into her cupped palms. "How could he do this?" Anger burned like a hot coal within her. "He knew he'd wipe out thousands of people."
"He's a Wentworth, Miss McClain." Mayhew gave a cynical smile. "They don't tend to think of the cost, as long as they gain." Eyeing her hotly, he pushed the brandy across the table toward her. "Here. Looks like you could use a mouthful. It's one of the finest brandys the Confederacy has to offer...."
Far too early to be drinking, but Eden set it to her lips and swallowed heartily. That bastard. No, that absolute, miserable wretch. If she got her hands on Miles Wentworth, he was going to regret it.
Fire burning down her throat, she pushed the brandy glass back, half full. Mayhew nodded to her, then lifted the glass as if in cheers. "He's a weasel, no doubt."
"And a cure?" Johnny asked, reaching out to stroke her neck. "What about a cure?"
