The meeting ended and the team dispersed. They would touch base again once Whitman had made her decision.
~ 84 ~
“What do you think President Whitman will decide?” Kilmer asked Silla.
“I think she’ll make the right call,” Silla replied. “Handing you over in the hope that it delays the war by a few days is a bad deal. And she’s right—if you’re our trump card, maybe we should hold on to you for now.”
After the meeting, the two of them had returned to the bed-and-breakfast. Kilmer wanted to gather a few things that he might need if Whitman agreed to send him to ET-1. He took his computer out of the laptop bag and replaced it with some clothes, a few snacks, and a bottle of water. He grabbed a pen and some stationery off the side table and put them in the bag as well. Silla had lent him a duffel bag so he could take additional clothes and food, and he filled it with some of each. Kilmer wasn’t sure he would live long enough to use any of the things he was packing.
How had it come to this?
Silla sat down next to him on the bed and held his hand. “Kilmer, we’ll get through this. We’re going to make it past today and then we’ll figure out what to do tomorrow. One day at a time. Together. Okay?”
“That’s the thing, Silla. I’m not sure we can get out of this mess thinking one day at a time.”
“I don’t see what other option we have.”
Kilmer didn’t have a good answer to that—but he knew that an incremental approach wasn’t going to work. The trajectory they were on ended in disaster. They had to chart a different course—and that probably meant they would have to make some sacrifices.
“Silla, if something happens to me—and if you never see me again… I just want you to know that—”
“Stop, Kilmer. Don’t. Please don’t say anything more. I don’t want you to have a sense of closure. Whatever it is that you want to say to me, you can say it to me after this is over. Trust me, I can’t wait to hear it. And if that gives you even an ounce of additional motivation to make sure you’re around to say it, then it’s worth it.”
“You’re taking a big risk, Silla. It might be now or never,” he said softly. “We might not get another chance.”
“No, Kilmer. You promised me we would get through this. And you promised that you would come back to me. You’re going to keep your promises.”
“I only promised that I would try, Silla. No matter the consequences. And I still plan to do exactly that.”
She put her arms around him. “I know you, Kilmer. You’ll find a way. Just—don’t you dare give up. Do you understand? No matter what.”
“I won’t,” he assured her. “I understand what’s at stake. And I don’t intend to ever stop fighting for it.”
~ 85 ~
Heirs of Herodotus by D. Kilmer.
Excerpt from Chapter 11.
The prophet Muhammed’s death in 632 was followed by what, at the time, was simply a disagreement over succession. Would the next leader of the Islamic community be Muhammed’s father-in-law, Abu Bakr? Or would it be his son-in-law and cousin, Ali? The rationale for the first was that the followers of Muhammed should decide his successor. The case for the latter was that the line of succession should go through the prophet’s family.
There is no reason to think that the fighting that followed was meant to evolve into a conflict that would last 1,400 years—and counting. But that is precisely what happened with the Sunni–Shi’a split. Events of those early decades—the First Fitna (656-661), the assassination of Ali in 661, the Battle of Karbala in 680, the death of Husayn—these might have been minor footnotes in history. Instead, they remain, to this day, rallying cries for war.
What if those men could have seen the future? What if they had known that the divisions they were creating would last for millennia? That they were writing death warrants for children many centuries into the future? One can only imagine that they would have come to their senses and worked things out. Had they known the true costs of their war, they would have worked harder to settle things peacefully from the start.
But why do we think that? How can we be so sure? Who would have backed down? Who would have surrendered? Who would have sacrificed their values and beliefs, and the lives of their followers? That’s when a truly horrific realization dawns: it might have changed nothing at all.
“If only they had known, they would have done things differently.” These are the words we most associate with tragedy. But the greatest tragedies are the ones where we must say, “They did know—and they did nothing.”
~ 86 ~
“I don’t accept those orders, Secretary Strauss.”
“What the hell does that mean, Professor? I just told you that President Whitman has ordered all of us to evacuate Station Zero—including you.”
Kilmer and Strauss were standing eyeball to eyeball, as General Allen, Perez, Silla, and Lane looked on.
“I’m not leaving this place until I talk to the president myself,” Kilmer announced.
“I’m sorry that the president isn’t available to listen to your grievances right now, but she’s a little busy,” Strauss snapped. “And in case you think that evacuating you was my decision, Salvo and Casey were on the call as well. So get your ass in the Jeep—now. I’m not wasting any more time on this.”
General Allen separated the two men. “That’s enough, gentlemen. Professor Kilmer, Secretary Strauss is right. We were on the call. The president made it clear that you will not be going to ET-1. Not today.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. It’s the wrong call—and the president said she wouldn’t decide until 6:30. It’s only six!”
“Professor, she has made her decision. And she’s thought it through. President Zhao has admitted that they launched the nuke, and President Whitman hopes that will allow us to go back to ET-1 with a better explanation and a different proposal. President Zhao has even offered to draft an apology to help placate matters. We now have a few different options for how to play it.”
Kilmer grabbed his phone. We had a deal. I was supposed to be able to argue my case. He dialed Whitman, but she didn’t answer. He tried calling Nielsen and got the same result. Shit!
Silla placed her hand gently on his arm. “I know you’re unhappy about this. General Allen and Mr. Perez feel the same way. But those are the orders. The president wants us airborne before ET-1 is told you won’t be coming. Yes, it’s a risk. Every option entails risk. But the game isn’t over. We can reevaluate after we see how ET-1 reacts.”
Kilmer looked around at the others. “None of you see how dangerous this is?” he yelled. “ET-1 has painted itself into a corner,” he explained, trying to lower his voice. “They will have to act if we ignore the ultimatum. Don’t you understand that?” He turned to General Allen. “General, we will have blood on our hands. You know this.”
General Allen didn’t answer. And no one was willing to disobey the president. The only person who might have done so—Secretary Strauss—happened to agree with her.
So be it.
Kilmer closed his eyes. His mind raced as he constructed decision trees, worked through scenarios, and evaluated options. No one interrupted. Giving him a few seconds to come to terms with the decision seemed only fair.
But Kilmer was doing something else.
“Fine,” he said when he finally opened his eyes. “Let’s go. If I don’t have a choice in the matter, there’s no reason to waste time. But I will be calling the president again.”
No one objected, and the group headed out of HQ-2.
Two Jeeps were waiting for them. All around, soldiers and staff were in motion. Orders to evacuate had already been given, and people were moving and driving in all directions. Kilmer handed his duffel bag to one of the drivers but decided not to hand over the laptop bag.
“Sit with me in the second Jeep,” Silla said softly. “And tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think you’ll understand,” he replied.
/> “I’ll try to. I know you’re worried about what happens next. So am I. But we have time—and we’ll figure something out. Right?”
Kilmer said nothing. He was re-running his analysis. Had he missed something? Were there other options? He took a deep breath. No. Same conclusion.
Closing his eyes, he summoned the words that had always given him comfort. His mother’s words. The ones she had left for him twenty-five years ago. He could still hear them, as if they were being spoken to him in her voice.
You’re strong in ways that only your dad and I will ever know. You’ll get through this, my love. I promise you.
He opened his eyes and took Silla’s hand. Then he moved close to her, as if he were about to whisper a secret. Instead, he kissed her on the cheek—long enough that she knew he didn’t care if anyone saw them. Only then came the whisper.
“I’ll keep my promises, Silla. No matter what happens.”
Silla’s confusion was replaced by terror the moment Kilmer turned away from her and broke into a sprint toward the perimeter. Before she could even find her voice—and before anyone else could register what was happening—he was already twenty-five yards away.
Kilmer heard the shouts—Silla, Strauss, Allen—and kept running. He didn’t know how many people were chasing him, but the real difficulty lay ahead. Fifty yards to the perimeter. Then another half mile.
The problem wasn’t the distance. It was the soldiers who stood on the perimeter. They had heard the commotion. Strauss and Allen were issuing orders from behind—stop him, arrest that man, take him down—but the soldiers looked baffled, not knowing whether to grab Kilmer, shoot him, or get out of his way.
That was when Kilmer saw that the soldier directly in front of him was holding a handgun. If Kilmer could have identified any other option, he would have chosen it, but he was all of two seconds away from the soldier and it was too late to change course now.
The soldier blocking his path had made no effort to plant his feet or prepare for a possible collision—as if he assumed Kilmer would come to his senses and stop running. But Kilmer didn’t stop. Instead, he raised his arms to protect his head, lowered his shoulders so that they were level with the soldier’s ribs, and ran straight into him.
The soldier flew backwards and onto the ground, the handgun tumbling from his hand. Kilmer thought he was going to hit the ground as well, but he caught his balance just in time. He scooped up the gun—knowing that he would be safer if the gun was not in the possession of the soldier—and kept running. It occurred to him that he had never used a firearm before. That’s okay. You don’t plan to use it today either.
The incongruity of holding a gun while racing off to beg for peace did not escape his notice. But he didn’t dwell on it for more than a moment. The thought was replaced by a sudden realization that he was doing exactly what he had worried Strauss might do—disobey the president and take matters into his own hands. If it was to be considered an act of arrogance and betrayal when perpetrated by Strauss, it had to be equally reprehensible now. The thought was almost enough to slow Kilmer down—and its failure to do so meant that he had crossed more lines than he had intended.
Kilmer glanced over his shoulder and saw a crowd moving in his direction. Some people were chasing him, but most were merely drawn to the spectacle as it moved farther into Touchdown-1. Kilmer had somehow managed to get a lead of about a hundred yards after hitting the soldier, while everyone else was still trying to make sense of what was happening. But running wasn’t his forte, and his lead was shrinking. He heard someone scream Shoot him! Or was it Don’t shoot him?
He kept running, his legs burning. He was almost at the kill-zone now. The spacecraft loomed before him, its humming louder than ever. Then he saw the metal platform—almost ten feet across and two feet high—that Archidamus had mentioned. It was situated maybe ten yards from the spacecraft.
Kilmer had no idea what the scene he had created would look like to the aliens, and he didn’t want to be mistaken for someone trying to attack ET-1. The moment he thought he had crossed into the kill-zone, he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Ambassador Kilmer! This is Ambassador Kilmer!” He kept running, unsure if his voice could be heard over the humming.
He looked back and saw that the two soldiers closest to him had slowed down, as if they were trained to be more cautious near the kill-zone. Seconds later, Kilmer leapt onto the platform.
Nothing happened.
“Please stop!” Kilmer shouted at the soldiers. “You don’t understand. I have to do this!”
The soldiers, less than fifty yards away, were walking toward him now, their guns drawn. “Put the gun down!” one of them screamed.
Only then did Kilmer realize that his own gun was pointed at the soldiers. He quickly pointed it toward the ground.
“Come down from the platform, sir. You need to come with us. That’s an order!”
Kilmer didn’t move. Instead, he raised the gun again. “No! You need to stop. I can’t come with you. Please. Try to understand. I’m on your side!”
The soldiers stopped moving, but their guns were still drawn.
Farther away, at the edge of the kill-zone, a large crowd had gathered—and there was chaos. Kilmer could make out Strauss, Allen, and Perez, but there was no sign of Silla. She should have been able to outrun all three of them.
One of the two soldiers moved forward and issued an ultimatum. “I’m going to count to five, sir. After that, I shoot you in the leg. But I might miss and end up killing you. So I strongly suggest you get over here… now.”
Kilmer didn’t move.
“One! Two! Three! Fo—”
A blinding light interrupted the soldier’s countdown—and the sound emanating from ET-1 turned even louder. Kilmer braced himself for whatever was supposed to happen next.
But only a few seconds later, the light switched off.
That’s when he saw what had happened.
~ 87 ~
Kilmer looked across the field. The two soldiers who had stormed into the kill-zone were now on the ground, bleeding. Possibly dead. He looked farther out in the direction of the perimeter. Secretary Strauss and General Allen were both shouting orders. The soldiers around them were struggling to figure out which orders to follow. Perez was yelling into a phone, almost certainly talking to Whitman on the other end, trying to explain how all hell had suddenly broken loose.
Then he saw Silla—and his heart broke into a thousand pieces. He lowered the gun, now pointing it towards the ground. She had pushed her way through the crowd of soldiers and was shouting something in his direction. She was furious—and he could make out the tears on her face. He couldn’t hear any of the words she was saying, but he was terrified. A soldier tried to grab Silla, but she pushed him off and the man stumbled backwards. She was squarely in the kill-zone now and walking toward where the soldiers had fallen. He screamed for her to stop. She didn’t hear him. Or she didn’t care.
And then, suddenly, Lane emerged from the crowd and raced toward her. Thank God, Lane. He caught up to her and tackled her to the ground before she could move any further into the kill-zone. She screamed and punched at him, but he wouldn’t let her go.
The sound behind Kilmer grew louder. It was almost deafening.
He knew that Silla would never forgive him. Never.
But—hopefully—she would understand.
Silla stopped trying to fight off Lane and turned toward Kilmer. He saw the look on her face. It was the look of someone who had experienced the ultimate betrayal. Someone who would never understand.
I love you, he whispered. He knew she might only be able to make out the movement of his lips.
We have time, Silla whispered back. We do, she pleaded. Please, Kilmer!
His eyes welled up.
He would never forgive himself either—but he wasn’t about to break his promise to her.
He wasn’t about to let the world come to an end when there was still a chance.
&nb
sp; I’m sorry.
He dropped the gun.
There was a bright flash of light.
And then everything went black.
~ 88 ~
Day 57. 2:30 a.m. Apate 3 Conference Room.
“When the light came back on a minute later, Professor Kilmer, you had disappeared.”
Kilmer sat in stunned silence as Art closed the binder in front of him. Kilmer looked at Lane, who offered a slight nod, confirming everything Art had just narrated. Finally, Kilmer mustered up the courage to look Silla in the eye. She looked back at him with a calm defiance that made clear she was not about to shy away from his gaze.
Art hadn’t revealed to Kilmer what he and Silla had said to each other in the kill-zone. Apart from that, however, he had described the scene in detail, including the part about Lane tackling Silla to keep her from ending up like the fallen soldiers. And Art did not hide the fact that Silla had been the only one, after the soldiers were shot, who raced into the kill-zone—risking her life to try to stop him.
Kilmer looked back at Art. “What happened to the two soldiers?”
“They survived.”
“And what about me, Art? What happened to me? And how did I manage to return?”
“I can tell you what we know, Professor, but it’s not much. Fifteen minutes after you disappeared, we received a message from ET-1.”
You will not see Ambassador Kilmer again, but you should know that his sacrifice was not in vain. Approximately one million humans would have died today if he did not arrive by 7 p.m. It would have been an American city.
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