Epilogue

Gretchen Sutsoff died before her ambulance reached the hospital.

The first news reports indicated that there had been an attempted abduction of a baby boy at the Human World gathering when the fleeing suspect was killed in a traffic accident.

The unharmed child had been reunited with his mother.

What was not reported at the outset was how Dr. Foster Winfield and the experts from Project Crucible, Fort Detrick and the CDC had examined the files found in Sutsoff's laptop and confirmed that she never activated her lethal agent. The microbe remained harmless and would pass safely through anyone's system within twenty-four hours.

That analysis was supported by the fact that medical staff at the event in Central Park had no reports of any serious or unusual illnesses arising from the gathering.

In the days and weeks that followed, the Royal Bahamas Police, aided by U.S. authorities, began dismantling Sutsoff's lab on Deus Island and the Blue Tortoise Kids' Hideaway on Paradise Island.

Investigations at the Golden Dawn Fertility clinic, and clinics at other locations around the world, helped police uncover the networks used by Sutsoff and her inner circle.

All of the major players--Drake Stinson; General Dimitri, the intelligence chief; Goran, the human trafficker; Reich, the global banker and Downey, the arms dealer--had been found dead, victims of the weapon they'd helped develop.

An autopsy performed on Sutsoff resulted in the discovery of a malignant tumor that was removed from her brain. It exhibited widespread necrosis that could have contributed to her actions.

For all investigators, the priority remained the stolen children. They were all recovered with help from Sutsoff's files. Medical experts examined them closely and monitored their health. Detectives around the world conducted exhaustive interviews and examinations of records, counterfeit and forged passports and illegal adoption files, and they determined that most of the adoptions were processed by Stinson's firm in Rio de Janeiro. Brazilian detectives, including Roberto Estralla, provided information enabling the stolen children to be reunited with their families.

One of those reunions happened in Kunming, China.

Late one night, local police knocked on the door of Sha Shang and Li Chen's home. Sha was fearful of a police action but Li screamed when the officers smiled and little Pan Qin emerged.

Li thought she was dreaming and told her husband to pinch her as she checked her boy for the birthmark on his left ankle shaped like two hearts touching, symbolizing her eternal love for her son.

It was there.

Li fell to her knees and crushed her son in her arms.

Similar scenes were replayed in countries around the world where children were returned safely to their families.

For weeks, the plot to unleash Extremus Deus Variant 1 in Central Park remained the top news story around the world. Any doubt about Jack Gannon's skills vanished as he led the WPA's coverage with exclusive reports that made use of Marcelo Verde's dramatic photos of the explosion at the Cafe Amaldo.

"I was dead wrong about you, Gannon." George Wilson removed his glasses and winked. "But you know, you're only as good as your last story."

Gannon wrote about Gretchen Sutsoff's life, her genius and her descent into madness. It was the tale of a brilliant scientist who came within a heartbeat of committing one of the most devastating acts in history.

Sutsoff was buried next to her mother, father and little brother in a small cemetery in the Virginia countryside not far from where she was born. The ceremony was arranged by a distant relative. Gannon was among the few people present. Lancer, Winfield and Kenyon were there. None of Sutsoff's relatives were present when her coffin was lowered into the ground. The woman who wanted to erase the world was not mourned.

Gannon never forgot the people who'd helped him. He thanked Oliver Pritchett and Sarah Kirby and everyone along the way. And in a feature about Gabriela Rosa, Marcelo Verde, Adam Corley and Maria Santo, he honored the dead.

Gannon arranged through Roberto Estralla to send bonus money he'd received to Pedro and Fatima Santo in the Rio favela of Ceu sobre Rio to set up a scholarship in the name of their murdered daughter, Maria.

About a month after Emma and Tyler were reunited, Gannon accepted Emma's invitation to visit them in Big Cloud.

The three of them got into Emma's car and headed across Wyoming's high, rolling plains. They went to one of Emma's favorite spots, twenty miles north of town alongside the Grizzly Tooth River. Emma had packed a lunch, and while Tyler threw pebbles into the river, she turned to Gannon.

"The other day I was given a gift, Jack."

Gannon could not begin to guess what it was.

"After we found Tyler, he was examined thoroughly by so many doctors, goodness. He's perfectly fine, but when they double-checked his DNA they found that he's Joe's biological son."

"Really?" Gannon grinned.

"Yes. Somehow, in all of this, a miracle happened." Emma looked at the sky. "It means Joe is still with us, you know?"

"Sure."

"What about you, Jack?"

"What about me?"

"Ever think of settling down?"

Gannon shrugged. "I almost got married once, to a reporter at the Cleveland Plain Dealer."

"What happened?"

"Didn't work out. I guess I've always been a loner."

"Well, you'd better watch yourself." She smiled. "You never know what's coming for you."

"You never know."

He smiled back, watched Tyler toddling after a butterfly, then reflected on Sutsoff and her lonely funeral. That got him thinking about how he really had no one in his life except his sister, Cora.

But he'd lost her long ago.

He looked toward the mountains.

If she wasn't dead, she was out there.

Somewhere.

As he considered the snow-crowned peaks he thought that maybe it was time to find her.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

In crafting The Panic Zone, I was inspired in part by the public record and accounts of people subjected to experimentation without their consent. A little online research or, better yet, a pleasant visit to your local public library will yield information on chilling projects conducted, or secretly planned, throughout history. I make no claim to being a scientist or possessing any knowledge in the field and apologize to the experts among you for any technical errors or implausibility in my made-up tale. I ask you to bear in mind that The Panic Zone is not a textbook but rather a work of fiction drawn in my imagination after reaching into the darkest corners of historical fact.