Grady stood with folded arms watching Cotton’s smug face, and he felt like tipping the table over.

“You’re probably wondering what the deal is with the viral synthesis rig. Little hobby, actually. Personalized viruses are gonna be the next big thing—mark my words. Lot of information can be stored in DNA. But then you both know that.”

Grady and Alexa peered more closely into the screen depicting cell division as Cotton’s recording continued.

“Now, promise not to get mad, but . . . you remember that inoculation we all took against neurotoxins? Yeah, that’s not what it was. It was a DNA virus.”

“Goddamnit, Cotton!” Alex glared at the screen.

Grady turned to her. “So he’s killing us, too?”

“Don’t panic. Funny thing about DNA viruses—they tend to leave their genetic code in us. About eight percent of the human genome is viral-inserted DNA. And I thought it was time I left my mark in humanity, too.”

Grady had started examining diagrams on neighboring screens, and he could see that several were text strings whose forms he recalled from the video projector Chattopadhyay had given him.

Alexa was nodding to herself. “Guanine, thymine, cytosine, adenine . . .”

“There’s a good chance you’ll transmit this virus to other humans you’ve come in contact with. And it will spread in your body—make changes to your DNA.”

Grady looked up at her. “What has he done?”

“Well, here’s the thing: It wasn’t enough to destroy the BTC. My goal was to break all those innovations out of that black tower of theirs. And I thought, what better way to make sure no one hoarded these advances ever again than imprinting them into our very DNA?”

Suddenly several screens started showing animations of technical specifications for fusion, gravity mirrors, and molecular diagrams of pharmaceuticals being synthesized into DNA strings.

“So that it can decoded by anyone—even tens of thousands of years from now. I guess you could call it the world’s first intellectual property virus.”

The animations started showing the DNA being restored to technical specifications again. It was the BTC’s entire storehouse of secret knowledge from the looks of it.

Grady laughed out loud, his voice echoing in the empty space.

Alexa stared in bewildered amazement.

“Cotton, you son of a bitch. You really did steal back the future . . .”

Cotton smiled down on them with his Wyatt Earp beard and hair. “See, I don’t know about you guys, but I plan on retiring—doing some traveling. And spreading some knowledge.” He shrugged. “If you know what I mean. I suggest you do the same.”

Grady and Alexa just exchanged looks.

“Oh, and Jon, one more thing: Your gyroscope wasn’t broken. I just needed you to focus on getting into that tower and getting control of Kratos. Maybe sometime I can make it up to you. Cook you a meal or something.”

A hologram of a large spinning globe spun into existence in front of them. It zoomed into a tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic. “Hibernity is located beneath a remote island that’s actually named—and I’m not making this up—Inaccessible Island. Try 37° 17' 6.88" S and 12° 40' 22.14" W, and that should get you there.”

A smile spread across Grady’s face.

Alexa grabbed Grady shoulder. “Found it, Jon.”

“Yes. Yes, we did.” He stared at the holographic map.

Cotton’s hologram tipped an imaginary hat to them. “See you around.”

CHAPTER 35

Rescue

Jon Grady and Alexa hurried away at a crouch from the chopper wash of the Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion and finally stood beneath the sunshine. There were a dozen more choppers landing or taking off farther down the tiny, barren island. And in the near distance surrounding Inaccessible Island were U.S. Navy amphibious assault ships and Aegis cruisers, and in the far distance an aircraft carrier.

Hundreds of heavily armed U.S. Marines and companies of 82nd Airborne Rangers were standing around in groups or moving across the treeless, windswept grasses. A sharp-featured woman in her sixties dressed in denim, a sweater, and hiking boots waved to them from a cluster of plain-clothed men carrying assault rifles with full tactical harnesses a hundred meters away.

Grady nudged Alexa, and they both moved across the trampled grass toward her. As they closed the distance, Grady recognized the island with certainty. It was the island he’d been exiled to years ago. His eyes were drawn to the distant stone cottage, right where it had to be, on the edge of the thousand-foot bluff. It was swarming with soldiers now, and they appeared to be pulling out all the furnishings, turning everything inside out.

As Grady and Alexa walked up to the plainclothes group, the older woman stepped forward, smiling, her hand extended. “Mr. Grady, Ms. Adenine, I’m Kaye Monahan, U.S. director of national intelligence. I must say it’s an honor to meet you both.”

Alexa shook her hand, but Grady was already looking past Monahan toward a dark opening in the nearby hillside—it was of unusual uniformity. Clearly man-made. It descended into the darkness like a big ramp.

“Have they located Hibernity, Director Monahan? And my friends?”

She moved aside and gestured into the opening, toward approaching flashlights. “It’s why we brought you in just now. I thought you’d want to be here.”

Grady and Alexa moved forward, down the ramp and into the darkness. Grady pushed through dozens upon dozens of heavily armed plainclothes operators and uniformed soldiers both. He finally stood at the front rank as scores of flashlights approached them from the cavernous darkness. And soon enough squads of uniformed soldiers came to the edge of the sunlight, turning off their flashlights as they emerged.

Grady scanned the faces of the passing people. And the first thing he noticed were young Morrisons in BTC uniforms—at least fifteen or twenty of them, zip-tied and talking animatedly, apparently just as glad to be free from their prison as anyone.

Grady pushed farther in as the men walked past, Alexa close behind him. And then there was a break in the flow of prisoners as another group approached.

And before he realized it, Grady stood before an elderly Indian man he recognized. Several dozen men and women stood behind the man, all wearing a uniform Grady was familiar with. The simple uniform that the Indian man had taught him how to print.

The prisoners stopped and stared for a moment. The soldiers guarding them looked up with curiosity at Grady and Alexa—most of their eyes lingering on Alexa.

But Grady moved forward toward the Indian gentleman, whose smile was even now expanding.

Grady closed the distance, and they clasped hands firmly.

“My dear boy. How fine it is to finally shake your hand.”

“Archie.” Grady then embraced Chattopadhyay.

The other Resistors, both men and woman, young and old, gathered around Grady and Chattopadhyay, tears on many faces as they held each other for the first time.

Alexa looked on as Grady ushered them all outside, into the sunlight, where they looked up disbelievingly—raising their hands to the sun.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

CHAPTER 36

Echo

Jon Grady stared out across the predawn sky, glowing purple at the eastern horizon. The stars and the Milky Way arched overhead.