The colonel’s expression remained stone.
Reese took a breath. “Because they resonate at different frequencies, those frequencies can conflict with physical contact. In the lab, we saw it on a very small scale. Two samples from different vials placed into the same receptacle would affect the magnetic field of objects around. We theorized under the right conditions such as two Anubis in different stages of Phase, the equalization could be so violent it would displace light and mass.”
“And that made the picture ripple?”
“Yeah, well, most likely. I mean, we only recorded the sound of energy released because the environmental manipulations were too small for the human eye to see. From those tests, it’s reasonable to assume the larger the sample, the larger the environmental response. It’s just I never imagined getting to see it on such a massive scale.”
“Like I said, that’s what made the picture ripple.”
How could one man turn an incredible scientific event into the mundane? “Yes, sir. That’s what made the ripple.”
The door to the bar opened. Mrs. Phillips apparently didn’t need the quantum state of the Anubis to ripple reality. Of course it could have been Reese’s blood pressure landing around his ankles.
Harrington hissed out a breath that sounded remarkably like, “Son of a bitch.”
“Dr. Dante.” Her razor-edged glare threatened to shove Reese out his chair to make a run for it.
She stopped beside the table where the private had set up the equipment. The poor kid turned three shades of gray, and Harrington tipped his head. Private Todd fled to the back, probably to cower in the corner with the bar owner.
Reese envied them.
“I need you to read this.” Phillips held a manila folder out to Reese.
Reese took it with all the care a person would handle a bomb. “What is it?”
“Just read it. Then tell me what you think it is.”
Hopefully, she wasn’t giving grades. Reese hated to think what she’d do if he failed. He opened the file.
He read, and with every word he processed, his mind threatened to short.
Anubis. Human. Hybridization.
Anti-rejection serum called VrK.
Subjects.
The first group fifteen men. The second twenty. The third thirty.
An eighty percent success rate. And as long as they received regular doses from the serum spun down from the hybrid cells, the ichor didn’t purge.
He turned the next page. Copies of emails. The address had been highlighted in yellow. Reese didn’t recognize it, and it wasn’t an employee account. At least, not one on a New World server.
Coordinated shipments of VrK had been sent out every sixty days to Libya.
Reese furrowed his brow. They took this outside the US to keep it hidden. He turned the page, scanning snippets of broken email conversations.
“… rejection.”
“… heightened aggression. Noncompliance….”
“Destabilization….”
“Project termination….”
He flipped the page again, and the pieces continued to fall into place, building an even uglier picture than he could have ever imagined.
“You knew?”