The Savior's Game (The Daniel Byrne Trilogy Book 3)

by Sean Chercover

  “No.” Pat crushed his cigarette out on the floor. “But you can, my brother.” His eyes sparkled like he was reliving a moment of spiritual epiphany. “Soon as you told me about meeting Dana Cameron in a vision, I knew you’d been to Source, and it hit me. You’re the one, you’re the one who can do it. You can balance Noah’s power. You’re more powerful than you realize.”

  Sleep, no longer content to wave from a distance, began its approach. Daniel’s eyes grew heavy. He fought against it. Pat stood and stretched his back, a series of pops and cracks sounding up and down his spine. Then a grinding, bone-on-bone crunch as he moved his right arm in a circle. A body that had fought too many battles. A man who had seen too much horror and done too much harm.

  “My dream is over, Daniel, but yours is just beginning. Go back to Source. Grow strong, and help shape the next dream.” Pat stepped close and leaned over and kissed Daniel on the top of the head. “Make it a good one.”

  Daniel’s eyes fell shut.

  36

  Sound returned first.

  Heavy rain, sheeting down, lashing against the windowpane. Then, a man’s calm voice. English accent. The radio on the desk, playing at full volume.

  Middlesbrough, two; Manchester United, nil.

  Thunder boomed outside.

  Crystal Palace, one; Bournemouth, five.

  Thunder again—three short bursts in quick succession.

  Tottenham Hotspur, four; Chelsea, nil.

  Three more bursts, but it wasn’t thunder, it was someone rapping hard on the door, and Daniel finally surfaced and opened his eyes and tried to sit up, and learned painfully that his wrists and ankles were bound to the bedframe with plastic zip ties.

  Hull City, two; Arsenal, one.

  And his mouth was gagged. With his own tie.

  Three more hard raps on the door.

  Daniel turned his head. The bedside clock read 1:41 p.m. He did the math. Forty-nine minutes until the dignitaries arrived. Driving time, hotel to the front gate of Arlington Manor: nine minutes, at a good clip.

  There was still time.

  Another rap, and then Kara spoke through the door.

  “I sat on a plane for eleven hours.”

  Daniel called out her name, but the gag muffled his voice and the radio was loud and the old hotel had thick walls.

  “Damn it, Daniel.” Silence. “Okay. I give up. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Kara!”

  But she couldn’t hear him.

  And Daniel couldn’t hear Kara’s footsteps, but he knew she was walking away.

  “Kara!”

  Nothing.

  Only the rain.

  And Liverpool, three; Everton, one.

  Daniel screamed and jerked against the zip ties, welcoming the pain, pushing into it until his wrists were slick with blood and he collapsed back on the bed.

  Defeated and utterly alone.

  It was all over. Kara was gone, and Pat was beyond repair. And Daniel could do nothing. Nothing to stop Pat from triggering a global war. Nothing to keep the ribbons apart. Nothing to save this world—this dream, however good, however bad, the only dream we’ve got.

  And nothing to stop Kara from walking away.

  He pictured her stomping down the stairs and crossing the lobby, leaving the hotel and walking fast to her rental car—not crying, not yet, not until she was inside the car, damn it. And she couldn’t believe Daniel would do this, it was such a betrayal after she’d come—

  Wait.

  He could feel what Kara was feeling. He didn’t think he was imagining it. And she’d had AIT. Maybe . . .

  You’re more powerful than you realize.

  Daniel squeezed his eyes tight. He reconnected to Kara’s emotional pain, locked on to it. Then he projected a mental image of himself bound to the bed.

  See me. Come on, Kara. See me . . .

  Something changed. Yes, betrayed, angry, but . . . confused.

  He bore down on it.

  Help me . . .

  He felt her confusion grow urgent, and he didn’t know if he was really connecting or if it was just wishful thinking, but he pictured her running back into the hotel and grabbing a key from the wall hooks behind the reception desk and running up the stairs and—

  Kara flung the door wide.

  “Oh my god!” She ran to his side.

  “Mmumph!” he said.

  Watford, nil; Southampton, nil, said the man on the radio.

  Kara loosened the knot and worked the silk tie out of Daniel’s mouth. “I can’t believe it—I saw this! I saw you lying here and I felt, like, this desperate need and I almost didn’t come back because I thought, This is crazy, but then it kept getting stronger and I knew I couldn’t just leave and not know and—”

  “Kiss me,” said Daniel.

  She did. “Who did this to you?”

  “Pat.”

  “What? Why would—”

  “Long story, tell ya later,” said Daniel. He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Toenail clippers, dopp kit, bathroom. Please.”

  “Right.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

  And now we turn to Championship League. Wolverhampton, three; Wigan Athletic, one.

  Kara reemerged with Daniel’s toenail clippers in hand.

  “Could you please shut that guy up?” said Daniel.

  He watched as she crossed to the radio and switched it off. Her pregnancy was showing—not obvious at first glance, but there was a slight roundness under the untucked silk blouse, and something about the way she stood.

  She caught him admiring her body and hovered over him with the clippers in her hand and a devilish look on her face.

  “If I cut you loose, are you gonna disappear on me again?”

  He said, “Cut me loose and find out.”

  She clipped his wrists free first, then his ankles, and as he sat up she sat next to him on the bed. “If your next words are ‘I gotta go . . .’”

  He kissed her long and hard and he held her tight. Then saw the mess he was making with his bloody wrists, and he pulled back.

  “I just wrecked your shirt.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Daniel stood up, and she rose with him. He put a hand lightly on her pregnant belly.

  He said, “I want this child. And I want you. And I know you think we haven’t been together long enough, so if you want to live together first, I’ll do that. Or I’ll live across the street and we can go steady. Whatever it takes. I think Maya Seth and Ian Shefras can be happy together, and you think it’s possible, too, or you wouldn’t be standing in front of me right now and you sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing that makeup. There’s so much between us, lady, it’d be a crime not to at least give it a chance. I recorded a long voice-mail but I didn’t send it because you’re right about doing this face-to-face. But you’d have liked it, I think. It was a good voice-mail. I even paraphrased that poem by e.e. cummings.”

  Kara’s eyes welled up and her full lips broke into a wide smile.

  Daniel said, “But right now, I actually do have to go.”

  She laughed. “Must be important. Gotta run off and save the world?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  Kara’s smile vanished. She knew he wasn’t kidding. She’d been caught in the war for AIT, she’d stood over the pit of bodies in Liberia, and she’d treated thousands of victims of the biological attack on South Carolina. She’d almost been collateral damage herself.

  She said, “Why are you still standing here?” Then kissed him and pointed at the hallway. “Go.”

  “Girl of my dreams,” said Daniel. “Can I borrow your car?”

  37

  The dashboard clock read 2:09 p.m.

  Twenty-one minutes.

  Daniel slowed as he approached the stone pillars. He squinted through the fogged windshield, past hyperactive wiper blades and into the sheeting rain. The iron gates were closed. Two Range Rovers beside the gates, four men in each car. One te
am would stay at the gate, the other would fall in behind the dignitaries and become the second follow-car to the convoy from here to the castle.

  There’s still time.

  Daniel pulled to a stop and put the car in park but left the engine running. He rolled down his window and drew a deep breath. One of the security men stepped out and trudged through the rain to Kara’s car, nodding as he recognized Daniel. Two men got out of the other Range Rover, one leading a German shepherd, the other unfolding an angled mirror at the end of a metal pole. They began walking around the car, Mirror checking the undercarriage, Dog sniffing for explosives.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Byrne.”

  “Where’s Pat?” Daniel tried to sound calm.

  “Checked in a while ago, I think he’s with Raoul in the dining hall.” The man reached for his radio. “I can raise him on coms—”

  “That’s okay,” Daniel said, as casually as he could, “I’ll just catch up with him.” He gestured toward the gate.

  “Yes, sir. Please lower all your windows, pop the trunk and the hood . . .”

  “I’m alone,” said Daniel as he lowered the windows.

  “I’m sure you are. We still gotta look.”

  “Of course.” Daniel reached down and pulled the trunk release and popped the hood.

  The German shepherd jumped in through the rear passenger-side window, sniffed Daniel, sniffed around the cabin, jumped back out, leaving the smell of wet dog behind.

  One of the men checked under the hood. The other looked in the trunk. Daniel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, blew out a breath. These men were trained to recognize signs of nervousness, and Daniel reminded himself to stay cool. But every second seemed an hour, and how long could it take to search a car’s trunk? He took another deep breath and blew it out slowly.

  After what felt like a year, hood and trunk both thunked shut. The first man spoke a few words into his radio, and the gates swung open.

  Daniel drove through the woods faster than he should have and not fast enough, playing it through in his mind. “Raoul, I know you and Pat have fought together for years and trust each other with your lives, and I know you definitely don’t trust me after I broke into Ames’s house and held him at gunpoint, but listen: Pat’s gone rogue. He’s working with Conrad Winter, and I know Conrad’s dead, but now he’s a malevolent demigod named Noah living in the Source universe, and Pat’s gonna shoot the president of Latvia in the head and start World War Three, and that’ll provide the final push needed to bring the ribbons together—”

  Maybe not.

  Pat’s drug had worn off and Daniel’s mind was clear enough to know there was no way in hell to make Raoul believe Pat had gone rogue, never mind explaining Conrad/Noah and Source and ribbons.

  Daniel drove out of the woods and into the meadow, slowed by the now-winding road.

  He made a to-do list.

  One: Figure out how and where, exactly, Pat is planning to shoot the president of Latvia.

  Two: Get there and confirm.

  Three: Call in the cavalry and stop Pat.

  He glanced at the clock. Twelve minutes to complete three simple tasks.

  Daniel’s mind was clear, but as he continued along the gravel road, the sense of unreality he’d fought off earlier—the feeling that this was all a dream—threatened to rise anew. The scenery didn’t help. A moated castle rising from the meadow, all colors muted under the blanketing sky, visibility shortened by the rain, distant features fading to gray mist.

  Be here now. Surf the wave.

  He drove across the fixed bridge over the moat, pulled to a stop in the circular drive, and took a few long, centering breaths. Several members of the security team patrolled the vicinity on foot. Daniel stepped out of the car and was instantly soaked. He jogged through the cold rain to the man at the front door.

  “Where’s Pat?” said Daniel.

  “Conducting a perimeter check.”

  “Raoul?”

  “Dining hall.”

  Daniel jogged to the dining hall, where he found Raoul and Evan Sage watching video feeds from around the property on a stack of monitors.

  Raoul looked up, leaving monitor duty to Sage, as Daniel approached. “Pat said you weren’t feeling well.”

  “Where is he?” said Daniel.

  “Perimeter. Just radioed, on his way back.” Raoul glanced at his watch. “Cutting it a little close, they’ll be here in eight minutes.” He scooped a radio from the table and stepped forward. “Channel One reaches everyone, Two is just the gate teams, Three is castle team, Four is convoy.” He handed the radio to Daniel. “Channel Five is just you and me, Grasshopper. If AIT hits you and you see anything at all about this attack, you call it straight to me and we assess it, before we send everyone scrambling.”

  Daniel nodded. “I’m expecting a gunshot from a distance, but it’s just a feeling at this point.”

  “We’re covered for snipers. But you learn anything more specific—”

  “I’ll call you on Five.”

  Daniel clipped the radio to his belt.

  He stood in the chapel, facing Saint James the Apostle and Tim Trinity’s royal-blue Bible.

  Faith without works is dead.

  Daniel tried to focus on Task One. What was Pat planning? All of the security SUVs were equipped with long guns, and going on a perimeter check allowed Pat to get away from the others, so a gunshot from a distance wasn’t much of a leap. But from where? The rear walls of the castle cut off sightlines from the south, and the front meadow was wide open, nowhere to hide, and the woods were covered by thermal scans.

  Jesus, Pat. What happened to you?

  Daniel felt a sharp stab of grief for his broken best friend, for the man Pat had been before it all went so wrong. And guilt for having missed it. Why hadn’t he seen it coming?

  Pat’s world view had darkened dramatically in the last year, but so had Daniel’s, after all they’d seen. And so had everyone’s, for that matter. The world hadn’t exactly enjoyed a banner year—or a banner decade, as Pat so regularly mentioned.

  Like many men, Pat was prone to dressing his fears in humor, and Daniel had thought the hyper-cynical rants were just a coping mechanism.

  But they were much more than that. Pat had been selling Daniel, one rant at a time, on the idea that the dream of Earth was fatally flawed, irredeemable, unworthy of saving. He’d been grooming Daniel for his role in the whole twisted plan, while keeping him close until the point of no return.

  Daniel snapped to and checked his watch. Five minutes. He depressed his radio’s Talk button.

  “Raoul, is Pat back yet? Over.”

  “No. Over.”

  “Well, where is he? Over.”

  “Daniel, I’m busy. Pat slid off the road in the mud and hit a tree. Truck won’t start, he’s walking in. Over.”

  “Did you see it happen? Is he on the monitors? Over.”

  “We had him on thermal until he cleared the south woods. He’s off camera now. Pat’s a big boy, he can look after himself. Now I don’t want you in my ear again unless you’re channeling the Amazing Kreskin, you got that? Over and out.”

  South woods. No clear shot from that direction.

  Whatever Pat was doing, he was doing it off camera and there was no way to find him until he reemerged.

  Daniel felt utterly powerless.

  Wait. Pat’s only half the equation—the other half is provided by Noah and his army of meditators in Source.

  Could Daniel stop it from Source?

  If I can get to the meditators, maybe I can disrupt the meditation—

  But even if Daniel were successful, even if he crossed over directly into the meditation hall and could somehow break the meditation, then he’d be in Source and there’d be no one here to stop Pat from triggering global war.

  It was an impossible situation.

  Unless . . .

  Unless I can be in both places at the same time.

  Daniel’s stomach roiled
at the very idea, and he had to fight not to vomit.

  He caught a mental flash of Jay Eckinsburger standing in frozen terror in Source, drooling on himself in a near-catatonic state on Earth. Jay, who’d managed to be in both places at once.

  It had cost the man his sanity, but it clearly wasn’t impossible.

  Bifurcating his consciousness to put himself in both places might mean Daniel would have to spend the rest of his life in a straitjacket in both places—but that now seemed a small price to pay.

  Faith without works is dead.

  Daniel focused his attention on the stained-glass window in front of him. Saint James the Apostle, holding Tim Trinity’s blue Bible.

  He remembered the meditation hall in Noah’s tower, made a mental picture of it, thinking: If you can see a place, you can be there.

  Daniel strained to hold two competing realities in his mind at the same time. Tried to feel himself standing in the chapel, while also feeling himself standing in the meditation hall in Source. Tried to make both ideas equally real.

  And as he did so, the stained glass in front of him grew brighter and began emitting a bright white shimmering light.

  Glimmer.

  Daniel’s mouth flooded with the taste of cinnamon as the glimmer flashed so bright he had to close his eyes.

  When he opened them, Saint James the Apostle and Tim’s Bible were not there. Instead of looking at a stained-glass window, he was looking through a shimmering haze, a window directly into Source.

  The meditation hall in Noah’s tower.

  It looked like Noah’s entire flock—two thousand people filling the hall, sitting with their eyes closed, palms upturned, sitting on little red chairs, packed into tight rows.

  There was a man standing beside the flock.

  The man walked forward.

  Daniel walked forward.

  As the man got closer, he began to look familiar.

  Daniel stopped walking and stood just a foot from the membrane.

  The remaining haze cleared. The man on the other side stared at Daniel.

  Daniel raised his hand to his mouth. It was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he’d intended, but for a moment he was unable to make sense of what he was seeing.