Free The Zen Gene by Laurie Mains

but we scratched that idea. These men are full-time career military personnel and they are as mystified as anyone by what has happened. We’ve determined that whatever the agent is causing this problem it is almost certainly spread through human contact.”
    “Colonel, virology and epidemiology are not my field of expertise but as far as I know there is no known viral or bacterial agent, man-made or otherwise, which can cause the effects you’ve described. My advice to you is to look for another factor. Have they been exposed to radiation? Maybe it’s a thyroid issue. Was this a deep-sea diving mission? Maybe they were not adequately decompressed,” he suggested.
    He was thinking out loud and tossing out random ideas and possibilities until he looked over and saw a thin smile on Western’s face and realized he’d been deftly hooked. As a research scientist asking questions and suggesting possible solutions to problems was his natural state of being. Western had expertly laid the trail of crumbs which led him into this trap. He was a little embarrassed at how easily he was worked but, he had to admit, he was intrigued by their problem.
    If a man-made agent or a weaponized virus interfered with these soldiers on a genetic level and he could discover what it was it could certainly be important for the safety of soldiers. If it was not man-made but a naturally occurring mutation it could turn out to be a unique scientific discovery. Either way it was a fascinating problem.
    He looked at the parked warships and came to a decision then laughed mirthlessly at the power of his ego to allow him to be dragged into something which had the potential to be either career ending or Nobel producing.
    “What tests have been done on them?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    For his part Western was maintaining a magnificent poker face and as infuriating as the man was he had to admire his nerve. “How am I supposed to do anything useful for you if you won’t tell me what’s been done so far?” he said.
    There was that smile again.
    “Are you agreeing to help us Doctor Mann?”
    He looked at Western and frowned, confused.
    “You have it set up that I have to help you if I want to keep my grant money. What else do you want?” he said. He was irritated by the man’s smug game-playing face.
    “I need you to sign these documents here, here, and here,” Western said pushing a sheaf of papers in front of him and indicating several places where he wanted him to sign.
    “What is this?”
    “A confidentiality and non-disclosure agreement and part 4 of the official secrets act of 1971,” he said.
    “I suppose I must sign this if I want to get back to my real life.” He picked up the pen and made a few chicken scratches where indicated.
    Western picked it up and examined the scrawl. “Dr. D.F. Duck.” He laughed mirthlessly and jammed the papers into his briefcase. “It doesn’t matter what you sign Doctor Mann if you fuck with us we will bury you so deep God will need a flashlight to find you.”
    “I am a scientist Colonel and I can assure you there is no God; people like you are sufficient proof of that.”
    ***
    Jonas McLean was younger than him by five years but when he walked into Bio Containment Lab 1, in a building safely sequestered out of harm’s way at the extreme south end of the massive Naden Naval Reserve, his first thought was he looked ten years older.
    He had never been large but now, bent and stoop shouldered, he seemed almost tiny. He looked life-beaten with a grim and deeply weathered face the product of living rough for years. His voice matched his face, he sounded as weathered as he looked.
    “It’s been a long time, Lee,” McLean said and held out his hand. He was surprised by the strength in his grip, “You look good for a dead guy, Jonas,” he said and laughed at his own joke. Jonas did not smile.
    “I was in a mental hospital for a few years and then I lived on the street,” he said. “My father was