This situation was now entirely out of hand. It needed to go up the chain of command pronto, and way up, because what had to be done was clear and was going to take presidential approval. There had to be a nuclear strike on the Big Basin area. Deep, penetrating nukes. The whole region would be laid waste, not to mention fallout for a thousand miles straight into America’s heartland.

She called Hammond, but his office line rang and rang. She tried his cell, but the cellular phone system was out of service due to the storm. His home phone didn’t answer, either. Next she tried Turner’s direct line. Nothing there. She got an operator at DARPA, but she couldn’t raise Turner, either.

So what to do? Should she go around George? Could she? Not easy, especially not with a subject this restricted. She knew that the DCIA didn’t know about it, so the White House didn’t, either.

She put “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” on, grabbed her chair, and twirled round and round in it, a favorite way of thinking things out.

Approaching the administration with a request like this was going to take more than just a few videos and some anecdotal evidence. The evidence had to be overwhelming. Undeniable. A video of a human skin lying on the roof of a van was horrible, but it was not going to convince the president of anything.

She tried again to reach George. Same result. Okay, she’d have to do this another way. She prepared to face the storm.

*   *   *

While Linda Hicks and Pete Richardson attempted to help the people who were still alive, Mark struggled to come to terms with himself.

Did Linda and Pete know anything about him? Were they biological machines? Because that’s what he was now sure he was, something artificial that had been grown in some hive like the other hybrids. He was an early model, that was all. That explained defects such as compassion and decency and love.

He ran his fingers along the pale skin of a dead hybrid. It was beautiful, an artwork. He could feel the tiny scales, intricate. It was like feeling something with a surface of hard jewels, but soft inside.

The eyes were filmed, one hand clutching, of all things, a bit of candy.

Linda came over and looked down at the creature, her face registering her disgust.

His own skin was perfectly normal, and so was Linda’s. She was a conventionally pretty woman with regular features and kindly gray eyes. There was nothing strange about him, either. His body was ordinary … unless, of course, it wasn’t.

“Where do we come from?”

She remained silent.

“Do you know?”

“I’m from Idaho, Mark.”

“Linda, I asked you a goddamn question!”

“And I answered you as best I can! I was born in Idaho Falls and I grew up there.”