Ayo looked at Pat. “Is this boy joking?”
“Not even a little bit,” said Daniel, “and whatever it is, it’s imminent. I’m looking for plausible flash-point scenarios—nukes just gone missing, hard-nationalist uprisings, heightened terrorism chatter—something that could have massive military or geopolitical repercussions. Something that could trigger global war.”
“Daniel, there’s so much chatter these days we can barely keep up. And we’ve always got nukes missing—more than a hundred, at last count. Any one of them could go off in the next few days, and it could be anywhere—that’s the definition of missing. So if the voices in your head aren’t willing to be more specific than something bad is going to happen somewhere on Earth, I really can’t help you.” She looked at him with genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back to headquarters. We’re stretched in a thousand directions right now.”
Ayo turned to Pat. “If Wayward Boy’s AIT says anything useful at all, I will hear from you without delay. Yes?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Pat.
“And when Raoul calls, play nice. We really need you back.” Ayo reached out and touched the bruise on Daniel’s neck. “Do take care of yourself. I worry about you.”
She started to walk away. Daniel grabbed her arm.
“Wait. Raoul’s not a field operative anymore. What’s so important that’s got him in England?”
She stiffened. “It shouldn’t need stating that I’m not at liberty to share operational details with a former field op who, not so long ago, renounced his Foundation membership while holding our director at gunpoint. And it’s unfair of you to ask.”
She was right. Daniel searched for something—anything—that he’d learned in Source and that would make sense to her. He looked to Pat.
Pat shrugged.
Daniel said, “Ayo, I know the world is on the verge of something that can’t be undone. I don’t just have AIT like Tim and Kara and half a million more. I’ve got, like, AIT squared.” To Pat: “Tell her. You’ve been with me the whole time.”
Pat held Daniel’s eye a moment, then turned to Ayo.
“It’s true. Or, he’s losing his mind. But I’m bettin’ on the former.”
“Thanks a heap,” said Daniel. “Hell of an endorsement.”
“What do you want me to say?” said Pat. “I said I’m betting on the former.”
Ayo said nothing.
Daniel looked out at the sunlight shimmering on the water’s surface. He said, “Conrad Winter—Conrad was just a bad dream compared to the guy I’m up against . . . the guy who sent Drapeau. And I promise you, he is about to unleash hell on humanity. So without revealing any operational details, tell me this: What would be the worst consequence, if a worst-case scenario unfolded at the thing Raoul’s at in England?”
“What other geopolitical dominos would it knock over?” Pat added.
Ayo thought it through. Her face fell.
“Global war, isn’t it?” said Daniel.
“It could be . . .” Ayo was silent for a moment, as she considered how much to share. “Raoul’s at a trade summit, a private meeting—”
“Private, or secret?” said Pat.
She shot him a look. “Secret. The goal is to get agreement on the framework for a multilateral economic partnership prior to the G7. A handful of petroleum billionaires, a dozen European diplomats, several Eastern European heads of state. Some of the major players in the deal are Foundation allies, so we’ve got a security detail on-site. Raoul’s running the team. But that summit is just one of hundreds of current potential flash points for global war.”
“What we’ve been saying,” said Pat. “The dominos are all set up, ready to tumble.”
Daniel said, “Ayo, can you check if there’s a Tudor chapel near the location of that summit?”
“I don’t have to check—there’s a chapel right inside the main building.”
Daniel said, “Inside the chapel, there’s a suit of armor, and a stained-glass portrait of Saint James the Apostle, writing in a blue Bible with a white feather quill.”
Ayo stared at him, her mouth gaping.
“Oh my god,” she said.
32
Damn it, damn it, damn it. No. All wrong.”
Daniel held down the backspace key, unsaying everything, again. For the sixth time.
Maybe the seventh would be the charm.
He started typing again.
I was in San Diego. I was in your hotel, on the way to your room, when
When I filled my heart with rage and destroyed so many lives.
—the earthquake hit. I tried to find you, but
But I had to run off and save the world.
—I had to leave. I’ve been up to my ass in bad guys lately, and I’m still taking care of that, and
And if I fail, you and our unborn child and every living thing in the universe will cease to exist.
—we need to have the conversation we almost had in San Diego. I’ve attached a first-class ticket to London, where there’s a room waiting for Dr. Maya Seth at Brown’s Hotel. Come to London and settle in, and in a couple of days I’ll join you, and we’ll look into each other’s eyes and tell truths.
I hope you’ll use the ticket.
Love,
Me
He hit Send.
33
Kent, England
The president of Latvia?” Daniel closed the briefing file Ayo had given him before they left New York.
Pat turned the wheel, leaving the A229, guiding the Range Rover onto a country road that ran into the woods ahead. “It’s simple,” he said. “The trade deal would basically turn a bunch of Baltic states into a mini-OPEC, giving them increased economic clout and more autonomy from Russia. Obviously, Russia—bankrupt without the income she now gets from the Baltic oil and gas trade—is against the deal. So you hit this summit, assassinate the president of Latvia, and leave some ginned-up evidence that points to Russia. Then you sit back with a Mai Tai and watch the rest of the dominos tumble.”
“Right,” said Daniel. “And Latvia’s a member of NATO.”
“It’s like Archduke Ferdinand all over again,” said Pat. “Nobody really gave a rat’s ass about that dude, but the dominos were all lined up. British banks were in crisis, economy teetering on the brink of yet another depression, German economy on the rise, oil to be had from the weakening Ottoman Empire . . . treaties in place and wars to make money from. Old Franz was just the convenient first domino.” He geared down as they approached the woods. “President of Latvia could serve the same function today. Anyway, that’s who I’d pop if I were an assassin. But there’s a half dozen others in attendance who might do the trick. Hell, Drapeau’s replacement might be planning to take the whole place out with a dirty bomb, for that matter.”
Just ahead, where the road turned to gravel and entered the woods, two six-foot stone pillars stood framing the road. The iron gate between them stood open. A brass plaque on the pillar to the left read:
ARLINGTON MANOR
About a car length beyond the pillars, four steel bollards, each about two feet in diameter, rose from the gravel road, blocking the way. Pat pulled to a stop and they rolled down the windows and looked into the camera lenses built into the pillars.
After a few seconds, the steel bollards slowly sank into the ground with a pneumatic hiss. Pat put the SUV in gear.
The gravel road ran through a thick woodland for about two miles, then opened onto an expanse of gently rolling meadow. In the center of the meadow stood an immaculately restored stone Tudor castle—dating from the 1530s, Daniel remembered from the briefing file. The road meandered ahead, winding through the meadow, limiting the speed of their approach.
“Perfect.” Daniel laughed as they drove across a small bridge. “It’s actually moated.”
“Be better with gators,” said Pat.
The gravel road ended at the castle’s front entrance, a stone fountain standing in the mi
ddle of the circular drive. Three other black SUVs lined the drive. A half dozen hard men patrolled the area, white cords curling from earpieces and snaking down behind collars, MP5s bulging under waxed Barbour coats.
Daniel and Pat stepped out of the car. Pat stretched his back, wincing slightly as a series of pops and cracks and crunches reverberated from his spine.
Pat said, “Forgot to tell you, old friend of yours joined the Foundation shortly after you left.”
Daniel looked up at the approaching security man. Evan Sage.
Sage had been with the Department of Homeland Security, chasing down the same weaponized plague as Daniel. When their paths had crossed, Sage had not been gentle. Later, he’d tried to make up for it, securing Daniel an off-the-books flight to chase down Conrad Winter.
Sage held his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t break my nose, Daniel.”
“Nah, we’re even,” said Daniel, shaking Evan’s hand.
Sage said, “I heard what happened. You’re a legend at the Foundation. I’m glad you got him.”
Wouldn’t be so glad if he knew Daniel hadn’t just killed Conrad, but somehow elevated him to superhuman power, creating Noah.
“Well. Thanks for the plane,” said Daniel.
Sage looked a little troubled. “I just want you to know, I am sorry about the waterboarding. That’s not who I am, really. I just, I got a bit lost along the way.”
“Found yourself at the Foundation, huh?”
Sage shrugged.
“Hope it works out for you,” said Daniel.
Sage turned his head. “Uh-oh. Here he comes.”
Raoul Aharon approached. He didn’t look particularly happy.
“You are an asshole,” Raoul said, pointing at Daniel.
“Nice to see you, Raoul,” said Daniel.
“You should have told me from the beginning.”
“This is not a conversation I’m willing to have,” said Daniel.
“But now you suddenly remember who the good guys are?”
“Also not a conversation I’m willing to have.”
“Raoul,” said Pat, “Daniel’s the reason we know there’s gonna be an attempt tomorrow. Maybe you should start with thank you.”
Whatever Raoul first wanted to say, he put it away with a sharp nod. He said, “For the record: well done with Drapeau.” He gestured at Daniel’s bruised but healing face. “Looks like you came out okay, Grasshopper.”
I did. Didn’t work out so well for the people of San Diego, though.
“I had a good sensei,” said Daniel. And with that, the hatchet was buried, at least for the time being. Evan Sage remained outside at his post as Raoul led them into the castle.
They crossed the stone floor of the grand entrance, walked down the main hallway into a wood-paneled dining hall, complete with coats of arms, hanging tapestries, and four suits of armor, one standing sentry in each corner of the large room.
On one of the tables, Raoul unrolled an aerial photograph encompassing the entire meadow to the edge of the woods. The moated castle stood in the center of the photo. A compass arrow pointed to N at the top of the photo. It was from this direction that Daniel and Pat had arrived. A similar gravel road—but straight, not winding—led out from behind the castle, across the moat, and ran south through the meadow and into the woods on the other side.
Raoul waved his hand over the photo. “All this, and the woodland outside the photo, all the way to the road, is private property owned by our host, Lord Arlington. We control it all. The entire place has been swept for explosives, radioactivity, biological agents—the works.” He dragged a finger through the air, following the gravel road to the front door. “There are only two ways in or out, aside from hiking through the woods, and we’ve got the woods covered by thermal scans.
“Our dignitaries arrive at 14:30 tomorrow. A convoy of hardened SUVs, coming in the same way you just did. Arrival is obviously our prime point of vulnerability. Lead car, middle car, and two follow-cars are all our security guys. Four dignitary cars ahead and behind the middle car. Each dignitary has three of his own security men.” Raoul shook his head. “Fucking nightmare of political ego-stroking to get them all to agree we run security, but Lord Arlington made it happen. It was either that, or no summit. So it’s on us. Once the assets are inside the castle walls, the vulnerability to a sniper ends. But like I said, the woods are covered, and we’ve got a drone eye in the sky, so I don’t see how a sniper could get into a line-of-sight position.”
“Attack from the air?” said Daniel.
Raoul shook his head. “We control ten square miles of airspace, got a battery of surface-to-air launchers on ready. Short of a full military assault, gentlemen, nobody gets in.”
“What about the people already in?” said Pat.
“Minimal staff, everyone on the property vetted by the Foundation, and double vetted by MI5. And we handpicked the security team.” He handed a list to Pat. “Hell, you recruited half these guys, and I think you’ve worked with most of them.”
Pat scanned the list and nodded his approval.
Daniel stared at the photo, and for no reason he could identify, he remembered the feeling in the stairwell when Noah’s predators were closing in for the kill.
To Raoul, he said, “Humor me a minute. What about, not a full military assault, but say, a dozen elite paramilitary? How would that go down?”
Raoul shrugged. “It would go down like twelve very dead elite paramilitary. They’d fail. Even if they made the kill, they’d never get off the property alive.”
“Okay, they’d fail. But how would they stage the assault?”
Raoul pointed at the road winding to the front door. “The bridge in front is fixed, but in back it’s a drawbridge, and it’ll be up, so they’d have to make a frontal assault. The moat is electrified—we can run current through it—so you must cross the bridge to get in.
“But first, they’d have to get past our teams at the front gates. Remember those bollards when you came in? More bollards, every quarter mile, all the way to the moat, front and rear. And they’ll split a car in half.” He now pointed at the straight road leading from the back of the castle. “But if they got close enough to attack—which they wouldn’t—we’d lower the drawbridge and evacuate our dignitaries out the back, where a dozen SUVs stand ready to roll at all times, and then the drawbridge and bollards would go up immediately behind them.”
Pat clasped Raoul on the shoulder. “Even I gotta admit, looks like a solid setup.”
A hard man almost as big as Pat bounded into the room wearing a sidearm and a big smile. “Chief! They didn’t tell me you were joining the party!”
“Moondoggie!” said Pat. “How they hangin’?”
“You know how it is: The only easy day was yesterday.” He clasped Pat’s hand in his, gave him a hug with the other arm. “Got a minute to come say hi to the boys?”
“Good idea,” said Raoul, but Pat and Moondoggie were already on their way out the door.
“I want to see the chapel,” said Daniel.
“After Ayo told me about your vision, I had our guys sweep the chapel again,” said Raoul. “Nothing. Place is clean.”
“I want to see the chapel,” Daniel repeated.
Raoul looked at him. “Oh. Yes, right. You think you might have one of those”—he wiggled his fingers beside his head—“AIT visions in there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Worth a try though, right?”
“Worth a try.”
Raoul led them out of the dining hall and around a corner. “It’s this way.” As they walked, his expression changed, and he spoke quietly. “I told you for real, back at the hospital. I’m jealous of you, Daniel. Not that I feel more worthy than you, but . . . what makes you so special? Why were you chosen by AIT, and not me?” He snorted a laugh. “But then I remember your uncle had it, and I know it has nothing to do with worthy. No offense.”
“None taken,” said Daniel.
> They came to a stop outside the chapel door.
Raoul said, “I don’t think you appreciate how lucky you are to have it.”
Daniel said, “Yeah, I’m lucky. I found a beautiful world run by a malevolent demigod who plans to destroy our universe, I got my one friend there killed, and when I tried to fight back I murdered thirteen hundred people in San Diego. I’m havin’ a fuckin’ blast.”
But not out loud.
Out loud, he said, “It’s not as much fun as you think.”
The chapel was exactly as it had appeared in the hologram above the meditators. Dark beams and carved pews, a large wooden cross, a suit of armor next to the stained-glass portrait of Saint James the Apostle.
Daniel stood alone at the altar and looked across the empty pews.
He wanted to ask for help.
He wanted to pray.
But he couldn’t.
His eye was drawn back to the portrait of Saint James, holding a Bible the same color as Tim Trinity’s.
Faith without works is dead.
Daniel remembered himself as a nine-year-old boy, the year he had a dog, lying in bed, praying to God. Praying for what he always prayed for, when his prayers were earnest. Praying for God to reveal himself. Daniel so needed to believe his uncle was not a con man but a servant of the Lord. He’d been raised on the lie and believed it when he was younger, and the world had been a strange and magical place then, but as he grew his mind rebelled against believing what he knew wasn’t so. And on that night, Daniel prayed with hot tears burning his face, because on that night, Daniel was offering God a deal.
A sacrifice.
“Just show yourself, just once, and I’ll never ask again. And I’ll pay. If I wake up in the morning and Judas is—” He choked back a sob as he stroked the scruffy mutt lying next to him in bed. “You can take my dog. And then I’ll know you’re real. I’ll pay the price.”
The Savior's Game (The Daniel Byrne Trilogy Book 3) Page 17