“Tel Aviv?!”
“Hold on, hold on, I’m not finished. He said, ‘We’ve alerted Interpol and the Israeli authorities and they told us Mrs. O’Malley had reservations at the King David Hotel in Jerusalem.’”
“Oh, thank God. But why Israel?”
But even as she said it, she knew. Like herself, when Lolo went off to college she turned her back on everything she’d grown up with: family, friends, faith—but more egregiously than Allie. She became a real hell-raiser; and when Dallan came along, it didn’t help. They were birds of a feather.
About a year back, though, Lolo started changing—growing up, everyone said, finally. She wanted to settle down and have kids. She even started reading a Bible Carlos gave her. She called Allie with all kinds of questions about the End Times, especially the Second Coming. She was fascinated by the prediction that when the end came, Jesus would descend upon the Mount of Olives—which was in Israel.
“Never mind,” Allie said. “What else did he say? Are they going to the hotel?”
“They were planning to, but he said the hotel reported some sort of incident involving your sister. She was taken to an ER; they’re trying to find out where.”
What?!
“Is she okay?! What happened?”
“That’s just it, we don’t know. Israeli authorities literally just found this out and the Denver detective is waiting for an update.”
Allie took a deep breath to calm herself. “What will the police do when they find her?”
“The detective said they’ll order her to return to Colorado.”
“Ay, yai, yai! Call me the moment they make contact. I wanna talk to her before they do anything; she’ll listen to me. And look into flights from Cádiz to Jerusalem, just in case. Under no circumstances is she to get on a plane before talking with me, understand?”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll get on it. There’s other news too. Not about Lorena—other stuff.”
She wasn’t interested; her mind was entirely on Lolo.
“You there?”
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, what?”
“First of all, the bad news.”
Allie shut her eyes and shook her head.
Like everything so far hasn’t been bad news!
“The stranding in San Diego has started up again, worse than before. And it looks like the same thing’s happening in Australia. You already know about Spain and Canada—both strandings are getting worse. The same in Japan.”
Allie’s heart sank but she said nothing.
“And our wunderkind friend, Jared Kilroy, has gone missing. The police are looking for him.”
“He’s been kidnapped?!”
“No, I mean they’re after him.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“That woman we met at NeuroNet who I didn’t like? Kilroy’s PR person, Maggie Henderson? She was found dead near the old lighthouse on Point Loma. Fatal head injury, they’re saying.”
Allie inhaled sharply and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my g—!” Then something clicked. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me they think Jared did it!”
“They’re not sure, but right now he’s suspect numero uno. Cannatella tells me the problem with Kilroy is he’s one big fat unknown. Nobody knows anything about him, not even his own mother—who, by the way, has been on TV defending him, even though she’s still furious about his nonprofit idea.” Eva paused. “Speaking of which, because of all the publicity about the murder and Kilroy’s disappearance, the Quantum PCs are flying off the shelves faster than ever. The whole thing is totally weird.”
Allie felt Hero slowing down. She gazed out the windshield. City lights were coming into view.
Something is missing . . .
A moment later it hit her.
No helicopters.
“Hello, Allie, you still there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, stay on top of the Kilroy story and check on those flights to Jerusalem. I need to get going here, we’re pulling into port.”
“No, wait, one more thing. The Spanish government’s not going to let you wangle any whales.”
“Wrangle,” Allie said wearily. “Calder’s wrangling whales.”
“Whatever. But it’s not what you think. They’ve had a problem with speedboats trying to do what you’re doing and people have been injured. One teenager was killed today. So they’re clamping down: no more herding whales. But they’re thrilled to have you. They’ve got a whole welcoming thing planned for you tomorrow morning. Nothing tonight, so you can go right to the hotel. A driver is waiting for you at the dock.”
THURSDAY, APRIL 27 (8:37 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)
POINT LOMA PENINSULA; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
Jared continued his escape up the four-mile-long Point Loma peninsula, but darkness was slowing him down. Since morning he’d been alternately laying low and stealthily picking his way through the rocky, brushy, hilly terrain of the U.S. Park Service’s Cabrillo National Monument and the Point Loma Ecological Reserve.
He paused under a clear, starlit night and cursed himself for losing his cool. For inadvertently destroying the one person in the universe whose company he’d always sought and treasured.
He hung his head, his arms falling limply at his sides.
She’s gone.
Forever.
In his mind’s eye he saw Maggie’s terrible, unexpected reaction to his plan, which she hadn’t even let him fully explain. Her hysterics. Her threatening to expose him, to have him committed. If only she hadn’t wrestled with him. If only she hadn’t lost her footing on the wet rocks and smashed her head against them.
She would still be alive.
Oh, Maggie, Maggie.
Please don’t be mad at me.
He froze and listened.
A dog.
No—dogs.
He broke into a run, pushing recklessly through the thick underbrush. A branch slapped him in the face.
Right after Maggie’s fatal fall his first instinct was to book it to his La Jolla beach house. Now he wasn’t so sure. It was likely the police would be watching it. Would be staking out all his houses, in fact. And NeuroNet too.
An idea flashed into his head. Stopping, he whipped out his smartphone.
A few minutes later, the task accomplished, he angled to the right and redoubled his speed.
FRIDAY, APRIL 28 (7:05 A.M. CENTRAL EUROPEAN SUMMER TIME)
PORT OF CÁDIZ, SPAIN
“Mother Yolanda!” Calder cried out when she was presented to him by the city’s alcalde. “Oh, my goodness! What a surprise!” He embraced the diminutive, ancient-looking nun with care, fearful of breaking her.
He held her for a long while, barely conscious of being surrounded by city officials, reporters, and TV cameras.
“Mijo,” the old woman said, following the hug.
Calder felt himself choke up. No one had called him “my son” in ages.
She said, a song in her voice, “Que bueno a verlo, mijito, hasta tantos años. Es un milagro. Gracias a Dios!”
Calder’s Spanish was still plenty good enough for him to know exactly what she’d just said: “How very good to see you, my little son, after so many years. It’s a miracle. Thanks be to God!”
His spirits flagged when he listened to the Reverend Mother explain her reason for tracking him down.
“Oh, Little Mother . . .” His voice failed him. He could not—would not—tell her the truth: despite his remarkable invention, despite the effusive publicity he was receiving, he was hardly more than a pauper. He had no money in the bank and in fact was deeply in debt, having mortgaged everything he owned to subsidize his expensive dream. He expected to reap financial benefits from the success of this trip, but right now he dared not offer this saint any false hopes.
Staring into her still bright eyes, he sought desperately to find the right words. But before he could speak, the light in her happy expression dimmed noticeably. At first he read it as disappointment but quickly decided it was
something else.
It’s something—beatific.
With a weathered hand the nun gently stroked his cheek, as a mother would when soothing a distraught child. Her touch was electric and left his senses reeling; made it difficult for him to pay attention to her words.
“Do you remember what we always told you, my son?”
He shook his head.
“We said: ‘God has singled you out for a very special purpose in life.’ The sisters and I sensed it, prophesied it the moment you were delivered into our care on Christmas morning, swaddled in a purple woolen blanket.”
As he listened, painful, happy recollections long since shelved and forgotten tumbled forth, nearly knocking him off his feet.
“You had a quick mind and an easy smile,” she continued. “We all loved you and were heartsick when you left us, although we were happy for you.”
He remembered the day he said good-bye to the sisters—to God as well, as it turned out. His forever parents were not religious and soon he found himself adopting their secular worldview. Science quickly became his chief preoccupation, his reason for living, replacing the Christian faith Mother Yolanda and the sisters brought him up to love.
The stooped nun continued, her eyes glistening with evident joy, “And now I am happy, my son, because I see you are indeed doing God’s will. It’s the best gift you could’ve given to us.” She patted his arm lovingly. “Do not worry about us. We are in very good hands.”
He loathed departing from this precious woman without saying something positive. Something meaningful, profound even. But what?
“Little Mother, please pray for me.” He froze. He had no idea why he’d said that. It just spilled from his mouth.
“Of course, my son.” Her tanned, leathery face was beaming, rosy with the morning rays of the warm Andalusian sun. “I will consider it a privilege to pray for you.”
She walked with him toward Hero. “Thank you for seeing me today. I know you are a very busy man.”
Just before climbing into the ship he gave the angelic little woman one last hug.
A moment later, when they disengaged, she was beaming. Leveling her wizened eyes at him, she said quietly, tenderly, “And remember, mijo, whenever any of us fails to get what we want or expect, it does not mean God is indifferent. Almost always He allows us to experience loss and failure so ultimately we can succeed in fulfilling His great purpose for our lives. Something bigger than ourselves and our own human desires.”
FRIDAY, APRIL 28 (8:15 A.M. CENTRAL EUROPEAN SUMMER TIME)
Allie watched the old nun waving at them as Hero slowly backed away from the port of Cádiz. Her mind was still brooding over the newsflash Eva gave her earlier that morning about Lolo. The police found the ER, but her baby sis had checked out. No one knew where she was.
Allie’s impulse was to abandon the rescue mission and fly immediately to Jerusalem. But once again Eva talked her out of it. “Carlos is ready to fly to Jerusalem, if need be,” she argued. “But right now, he says, there’s no point—not until the police find her. And anyway, think about it: if she checked herself out of the hospital, that’s some kind of good news, right? It means she’s not hurt or anything.”
Eva was probably right.
Still . . .
But then there’s Calder.
I can’t just abandon him.
She rousted herself back to the moment. She felt Hero gaining speed; they were heading out to open water once more.
“You looked really surprised when you saw Mother Yolanda,” she said.
“That’s because I was. Jeez, I haven’t seen her in forever.”
“Were you happy to see her? You seemed a bit upset at the end.”
“Oh, no. I was happy to see her all right. It’s just that—it’s okay, never mind. I was definitely happy to see her. Just sad I had to say good-bye. She’s so old. Who knows . . .”
He’s hiding something.
A moment later he said, “Good news about the whale stranding, huh?”
At the morning’s event Cádiz officials informed them the animals had stopped beaching themselves overnight, all on their own.
“Just like in Darwin,” he said.
She swallowed hard. “Calder, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
“Yeah?”
“Last night Eva told me the San Diego and Australia strandings have started up again. No one knows why. I was going to tell you right away. But we were both so tired and I didn’t want you to be discouraged.”
Silence.
At last he said in a sullen voice, “Great, thanks for being so considerate.”
She sensed something was gnawing at him and not just the bad news about the whales. She’d seen it in his face back at the port. The old nun unnerved him somehow.
“Calder, if I’m not being too personal, may I ask you a question?”
“Allie . . .” There was an edge to his voice.
“Never mind.”
She settled into her seat but couldn’t relax. She tried distracting herself with the passing scenery; but she had long since grown tired of seeing only water. Finally, she broke open the book she packed for the journey: Can A Smart Person Believe in God?
After what seemed like a long while Calder’s voice broke the strained hush.
“Allie, I’m sorry.”
She set down the book and glanced at the chronometer. It had been a full two hours since they last spoke to one another. A record.
“No, Calder, really, I’m the one who’s sorry. I talk too much. It comes from being alone so much of the time.”
“You? Alone?”
“Yeah. Everyone assumes that because I’m on TV I have this glamorous life. That when I’m not trotting all over the world doing my reports I’m at parties hanging out with Brad Pitt and the gang. Truth is, when I’m on the road—which is a lot—my workdays always lead to an empty hotel room. That’s the reality of my life. So I guess being here with you in this tiny cabin. . .Well, I can’t help but talk.” She stopped herself. “Like I’m doing right now. Ay, caramba, I’m so sorry.”
She heard Calder chuckle.
“Calder, may I—?”
“Go ahead, ask.”
“Well, it’s just that I’m wondering. I overheard you ask the old nun to pray for you. Why? Was it a specific request? Or a generic request?—which is how it sounded to me.”
Calder didn’t answer right away.
“You don’t need to tell me if it’s too personal. Like I said—”
“Allie! Stop, por favor, give me a chance.”
She forced herself to be quiet.
What’s going on with you, girl?
But she knew.
For the first time since Phil, since committing the biggest blunder of her life, she was actually feeling a glimmer of hope.
Oh, stop.
Stop deluding yourself with wishful thinking.
That scientific study she once read—about the long odds of finding true love a second time. She called it to mind once more.
Face it, mija, lightning doesn’t strike twice.
Her question was so completely out of line that Calder’s impulse was to shut her down. But he didn’t and knew why: he was falling in love with this bright, beautiful, nosey reporter.
“Truth is, Allie, I have no idea why I asked Mother Yolanda to pray for me. The words just came out of my mouth. The craziest thing is that I don’t even believe in prayer. Or God.”
“You don’t?”
“No. And you?”
“Yes—although I didn’t always.”
He thought back to his adoptive parents. They eschewed religion, ridiculed it, actually, and called it a superstition. At first he wasn’t so sure, given his earnest belief that God existed and was punishing him for some reason. But then it occurred to him that maybe he was, in fact, being superstitious; perhaps his misfortune was just bad luck. It didn’t improve his outlook on life any. But it did remove the guilt he’d felt for so many
years.
“When I was in grad school,” Allie continued, “I learned about black holes, multiple universes, dark energy, singularities, the big bang—you know the drill. My professors believed in them, asked us to believe in them too, even though none of them is directly observable and probably never will be. Their supposed existence is based entirely on a certain way science connects the dots, on particular interpretations it gives to circumstantial evidence.”
She stopped.
“Yeah, and?” he said.
“Well, after a while it hit me. For a lot of my colleagues science is a religion. Their entire reality is logical-materialism. Their Bible is the laws of nature. Their god is the human mind, which is only too happy to deify itself.”
He was tempted to debate with her but his reunion with Mother Yolanda made him realize he’d never really given serious thought to religion—not as a grown-up anyway. “So, you believe in God but not in science, is that what it boils down to?”
“What?! Of course I believe in science. It makes life easier in some ways and increases our understanding of the universe—and its Creator. That’s natural theology.”
“What is?”
“The belief that God reveals Himself not just in the Bible but in the study of nature as well.”
“And you believe that?”
“Yes. It’s one of the main reasons I love science.”
“But Allie, help me out here. You claim to love science, yet in your TV special you’re gonna say it’s doing us in. I—”
“Yes, but you need to remember that for Christians the end of this life isn’t the end of the story—it’s only the beginning. For us, science isn’t just a worthwhile discipline. It doesn’t just give us the ability to explore God’s creation or His nature. It also gives us the ability to destroy the world as we know it. In all those ways science is a key part of God’s plan. That’s the ultimate message of my TV special.”
“Whoa!” he said, his thoughts in utter turmoil. “Allie, I can handle quantum mechanics and even life’s craziness, like being orphaned or my wife being killed in some random way. But not the idea of a God who has some special, far-out purpose for the world or my life. From my experience that purpose can only spell trouble for me.”
The Null Prophecy Page 14