She nodded. “It was our fail-safe. If we couldn’t sabotage the program and needed to move forward with synthesizing the pathogen, we would add a second switch to render it harmless. The thought was that if they ever managed to employ the weapon and activate the first switch, we could neutralize it by leaking the formula for something readily accessible or easily synthesized.”

“Like what?”

Tan Lily shook her head. “It was just an idea, and I fled with our daughter before we could begin testing it. I don’t even know if it was something Shen Yu investigated further.”

But Punky had latched onto the theory. “So, it’s possible that Shen Yu developed a synthetic biological weapon with an on switch and an off switch?”

“It’s possible,” the doctor admitted.

“Could you figure out what that switch was?”

“If I had a blood sample of someone infected with the pathogen that had already been activated,” she said. “But even then, there are over one hundred million potential compounds, and it would take a long time to find the right one.”

Punky groaned, then turned to Jax. “Could this be what Shen Yu gave your officer?”

He shrugged. “Could be, but that’s an awfully big assumption.”

She looked back at the doctor. “So, what you’re saying is that unless you knew where to look, you would have to wait for someone to get infected with the weapon before even having a chance to discover the off switch?”

Tan Lily nodded.

That wasn’t an acceptable answer. There were lives at stake, and Punky knew she needed to stop playing defense if they were going to have any chance of preventing another attack. She needed to get out there and uncover why SUBLIME was after the doctor. And she needed to stop him.

Punky stood, and she looked at Jax. “I’m going to put an end to this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find SUBLIME.”

A short while later, she had her foot to the floor as she pressed her Dodge Challenger Hellcat Redeye to its limits and screamed west down from the hills toward Interstate 15. She feared the Navy was playing right into the Ministry’s hands by moving the Reagan into the South China Sea, but unless she found out who was after the doctor, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She didn’t think anybody had followed them to the safe house, but she also hadn’t thought anybody would be so brazen as to ambush her in broad daylight while driving her dad’s ’Vette either. That event had permanently changed her outlook on the world. For better or worse, it had gifted her with a keen sense of paranoia that refused to permit her a moment without constantly evaluating and assessing those around her as either threats, friendlies, or allies.

As she merged onto the interstate, a faded yellow Chevrolet sedan inched closer on her left side, and she turned to study its driver. Friendly.

A lifted two-door Jeep Wrangler moved into the lane behind her, and she ducked her head to look at it through her side-view mirror. Friendly.

A black-and-white California Highway Patrol cruiser raced by in the left lane, its lights off but obviously in a hurry. Ally.

In her rearview mirror, several cars back, she spotted the single headlight of a motorcycle one lane over. There was nothing particularly troubling about it, but she loosened her seat belt anyway and drew the hem of her blazer back around the butt of her pistol. Threat?

The motorcycle quickly accelerated and left Punky’s Dodge Challenger behind.

She breathed a sigh of relief and continued south while scanning for threats, but her mind was focused on the task ahead of her. She just hoped she could convince Camron of the danger.

25

USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76)

200 nautical miles east of Taiwan

Colt sat with his ready room chair reclined as far back as it could go and had his feet up on the armrests of the chair in front of him, chasing away the remnants of his hangover from the late-night beers in Iwakuni. At the front of the room, a television hung from the ceiling in the corner and streamed various closed-circuit camera angles of the flight deck. For most pilots, watching flight operations was a favorite pastime when not actually flying, and Colt was no exception.

“Attention on deck!”

He popped to his feet before he heard Cutty’s voice say, “Carry on.”

Recognizing the Deputy Air Wing Commander, he relaxed and turned to the rear of the ready room where Cutty breezed past the duty desk with a stern look on his face, focused on Colt. He braced himself for bad news. “What’s up, sir?”

“I’ve asked your skipper to put you on for an Alert Five tomorrow.”

“Alert Five?” The vertigo subsided and his hangover seemed to dull. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t say yet,” Cutty replied. “Just that we’re stopping flight operations early and clearing the deck for a priority mission.”

“So, this is real world?”