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“Lazarus?”

She nodded.

“He was some kind of defector, wasn’t he? Some American scientist who turned to the Soviets.”

Elizabeth pivoted at the far end of the fireplace.

“The US sent a kill mission for him at the end of the Cold War.” He was pulling facts out of thin air, trying to piece together the truth from the scattered puzzle pieces he knew. “Did he survive or escape?”

“Jack.” She held up both hands. “Lazarus is cleared for presidential eyes only.”

His jaw dropped.

“It’s that critical.” Her dark gaze bore into his. “If that’s what you came here to talk about—”

“It’s not everything I came about. What are the plans to rescue our people on the ISS?”

Elizabeth’s lips thinned. She looked away.

“You can’t leave them up there. Do you know what kind of virus it is? What it can do?”

“Doyou?”

“I know a bit. Sergey put out a small outbreak of a weaker version of the virus, a replica, two years ago, right after the coup. The way he described it…” Jack shook his head.

“Sergey has seen this? In person?”

“He’s seen a version of it. The original virus was sent into space on that satellite. The Soviets tried to get all their dirty laundry off the planet.”

“They should have sent it into the sun,” Elizabeth snapped. She shook her head and paced the length of the office, following the outline of the rug. “You, and even Sergey, don’t understand. Whatever Sergey thinks he saw pales compared to the actual virus. Ifthatvirus were unleashed on Earth, we’d all be dead. It would kill everyone in days.”

“Whatisit?” Jack rose and shoved his hands in his pockets. “How bad is this thing?”

She turned to him, her dark eyes filled with fear and layered with something else. Something darker. “It’s like opening the gates of Hell.”

“I’ve heard that three times now. Someone needs to explain it to me.”

Elizabeth nodded to the folders on the coffee table. “See for yourself.”

Former presidents maintained their security clearances for the rest of their lives and were allowed access to classified intelligence briefings any time they wished. But opening those folders, looking at what was inside, would be crossing a serious line.For the President’s Eyes Only.He wasn’t the president, not anymore.

But he had to know.

Jack slid the folders across the table. He flicked the top one open. It was old, the cardboard brittle and smelling like dust. The papers inside were typewritten, with mimeograph copies of old Soviet documents. Cold War intelligence. Old skeletons coming back from the dead.

He tried to follow the documents, a mix of Russian and handwritten translations into English. There was a medical report, too, but it was beyond his expertise. R-naught rates on an exponential curve, hemorrhagic volume, organ shutdown, systemic collapse.Brain stem maintains autonomous nervous system if cerebral edema controlled. Acute neurological phase (Rabies) presents with rage-like symptoms.

They weren’t human,Sergey had whispered to him, walking him out of the Kremlin.Now all I can see is one of those things wearing Sasha’s face.

He flipped the page again.

And froze.

Old photos slipped through his grip, thick paper bordered in white, like photos from when he was a child. Some had yellowed, others had stuck together, and there were uneven patches on the film. But nothing could conceal the horror within each image.

He recognized Uchami, the forest, the river. In the photo, the lab was still there, three tin shacks up and running with tents set back in the trees. A line of bodies lay in the dirt, right where Jack and Ethan had discovered the mass graves. A small team of Russian soldiers dug trenches under the haunted gaze of a middle-aged Soviet general. Sevastyanov.

The next photos were inside the primitive lab. Three men in biohazard suits watched a fourth man, wearing only a mask and goggles, studying a body on a metal cot. Jack couldn’t tell if the man they studied was alive or dead. Blood poured from him, from every orifice, spilling from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. From under his fingernails and down his legs. His skin was mottled and bruised, the hallmarks of internal bleeding.