In other words, no one really agreed how to keep such far-reaching outages from happening, and thus no one had done a whole lot of anything, including FERC—the entity that was responsible for regulating RTOs. Yes, there was talk about terrorists trying to attack by exploiting the weak point of a grid, but most experts agreed it would be difficult to predict how—or even whether—a blackout could occur even if an attack was attempted.
Here at Meramec-Tate, a series of unexpected, inexplicable voltage increases had caused the major transmission cables to fail, and caused the cascading fault that rolled through the entire RTO. Why more than one cable had experienced an unexpected surge in voltage was the mystery Ake was desperately trying to solve, even as his operating staff worked to replace the cables and get the operations software running properly again.
Any unexpected surge or lessening of power running along the lines would cause them to fail, which was why every power-generating plant had software that automatically juggled and disseminated the flow of electricity to keep it in an even range, diverting surges to other lines or wires when necessary. If the software failed for some reason—which was part of what had happened in 2003—then human operators were expected to manage it manually.
But when the unexpected increase in power had happened on six different major cables within a thirty-minute timespan, there was nowhere for the extra megawattage to go…and everything went down. And the resulting streams of power surges and interruptions caused the same failures in substations throughout other parts of the grid, radiating further afield before man or computer could stop them.
Ake looked at the phone, where Sheever still screamed, and noted that two other lines were blinking on hold. This was one of the few times he’d been alone in his office since all this happened, and he couldn’t talk to anyone else right now. He had to concentrate on coming up with some sort of explanation for the FERC administrator, who was due for an update within the next hour.
No matter how many reports he looked at or crew members he talked to, Ake always came back to the same question: how in the hell had six different surges measuring more than five thousand megawatts happened in the same place in such a short time?
There hadn’t been any bad weather to cause lightning strikes—let alone six of them.
And yes, it had been hot, and some of the fault might have been attributed to an increased use of air conditioners…but that was routine management, and no one on his staff was that incompetent.
A bomb could have caused that kind of damage, if you wanted to think along the terrorism path—which everyone tended to do initially anyway—but there was no evidence of that. No big explosion. No fallout. Nothing.
Nothing to explain the sudden changes in voltage.
All at once, his office door burst open. Andy Nabbins, one of the crew, rushed in. “Thought you might want to see this,” he said.
Ake glanced at the phone, which was still squawking with an overabundance of F-words, and shrugged. He reached over and pushed the button to disconnect.
Silence. Blessed silence.
“What do you have?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
The young man, who happened to be one of the smarter, more proactive engineers on the crew, looked as weary and stressed as Ake knew he did himself. But Nabbins also had streaks of sweat and grime on his face and overalls from working out among the lines. He was holding something black in his glove, and the scent of electrical fire clung to it. Ake sniffed experimentally. It smelled like something else too.
Nabbins dumped the thing onto his desk, right in the middle of a pile of papers.
They both looked down. The irregular black mass was a bit smaller than a golf ball, and whatever it was, it was charred black, hard, and shiny.
“What is it?” said Ake, poking it with a pencil. It shifted and rolled a bit to one side, and little black flakes scattered on his desk. And then he looked closer. “Is that a bug?” He used the pen tip to poke at a piece of the mass. It did appear to be an insect of some sort, fused into whatever the rest of the mass was.
“That’s what I think,” said Nabbins. “And not just one—look more closely. It looks like a bunch of them, all sort of melted or burned together.”
Well, damn, it sure did. As Ake looked more closely, he forgot about the pen and began to use his fingers to push and prod, pulling at the cluster. The whole damn thing appeared to be insects. They looked as if they’d melted together.
“We found a bunch of these wads in the yard,” Nabbins explained, referring to the enclosed area over which the transmission lines traveled from the generator to beyond. “A dozen or so. And there are more, fused onto A5, B15, and B3.”
A5, B15, and B3 were three of the lines that had failed.
That couldn’t be a coincidence. “These bugs—could they have caused the surges?” Ake said, more to himself than to Nabbins. “Or…are they a result of the voltage surge? They flew into the wrong place at the wrong time and got zapped into crispy critters.”
Either way, it was a random event—the bugs flew into the yard at the wrong time and got electrocuted. And at least now he had something to tell FERC.
Then he looked even more closely. “Are these real?” he asked, noticing a metallic glint on one of the wings. A little prickle of unease crept through him. The cluster smelled like fried metal, too.
Then he shook his head. He’d been reading too many Crichton books. Still…
“Why don’t you and Berch collect all of the clusters you can. I’d like an entomologist to take a look if we can find a specimen or two. We might have to look into some pest control, if that’s what caused this. I guess,” he said, looking up at Nabbins, “if a seagull can fly into the engine of a plane and cause it to fail, forcing an emergency landing in the Hudson, a swarm of bees—or whatever these are—can fly into the transmission cables and cause a power surge.”
But the more he thought about it, the more Ake realized…that didn’t make sense.
At all.
* * *
Fenton, Michigan
Mike Wiley stared at himself in the mirror. He was holding on to the bathroom sink, hardly able to keep himself upright.
He couldn’t remember ever being this sick—not even the morning after he’d turned twenty-one. Or after his divorce was final.
At first he thought it was some sort of flu. Yesterday, he’d gotten the Fathom, and late last night, he’d come home from The Laundry more than a little hammered off a measly two beers. That should’ve been his first clue—the last time he’d been that out of it after two beers was when he was twelve.
And yeah, his skin kept itching where those bugs had flown into him, but he figured it was all in his head. Those things had creeped the hell out of him.
But now there were large, raised patches on his arms and cheek. He’d gotten his wife to pick up some hydrocortisone cream and Benadryl, but neither seemed to make any difference to the ugly rash. They looked like dark red lumps of cottage cheese and they were starting to spread—not only growing larger, but also popping up in other areas on his skin.
And he’d been weak and dizzy, cold and then clammy-hot all day yesterday. His wife was gone overnight last night at her dad’s, so he’d muddled through a restless sleep, hoping it was a twenty-four-hour bug.
It was a bug, all right. He was sure of it.
Those damn jungle bugs hadn’t even bit him and they’d given him some sort of something. He figured he’d better get himself to the doctor and get some antibiotics unless he wanted to be sick for another week.
The guys at Block Brewery were going to have to do without him for Trivia Night tonight, but Wiley figured he’d be back with a vengeance next week.
* * *
Somewhere in the Amazon jungle
Lev had not yet become accustomed to the damp heat and lush greenery of the rainforest. After more than a century living in the rugged mountains of Siberian Taymyria, he found the change of environment extreme,
yet not unwelcome.
Not at all unwelcome. For Gaia was just as beautiful here as she was in his native land, where he’d been birthed, molded by the Earth Mother, and then released back into the world.
And here, in the midst of brilliant color and a melodic cacophony of birds, insects, breeze, and tumbling water, Lev saw no evidence of how ill and damaged the earth was. This place seemed untouched by the heavy hand of man, and when he closed his eyes and placed a hand on the ground, Lev felt Gaia’s heartbeat. It resonated through him, deep in his belly, mingling with his own breath and heartbeat.
If he’d ever questioned that the very ground upon which he walked, the very trees that sheltered, the seas and wind that stirred energy all about were linked and growing and living, he need only press his hand to the earth and feel. He need only to close his eyes and listen, for when he quieted his mind, he could hear the trees growing, moving, sending their roots deeply into the earth.
Every creature on earth, from every blade of grass to every insect wing to the microscopic plankton and the pad of every mammal’s footstep—the very rock and soil, the veins of water, the flake of shale and the glitter of gemstone and crystal—all of it lived and breathed, inhaled and exhaled, suffered and celebrated, in one great organism. Gaia.
His mother.
But Lev well knew how full she was, how bloated her body had become, stuffed with plastics and electronics and man-made waste. How violated she was, shaved and scalped, hectare after hectare, razed and plundered by turns with machinery thrusting into her depths or polluting her with poisoned breath. It went on and on as man devastated and took, causing this great living being to shudder and weaken.
The rape and violation must be stopped.
And Gaia must be healed.
As the midday sun pressed down upon the jungle, filtering through the tallest trees he’d ever seen, Lev sought a soft, quiet place to settle his old, frail bones. The compound in which the Skaladeskas now resided was enclosed and overgrown by vines, bushes, and trees—camouflaged from aerial view, and unnoticeable from the tiny capillary of the Amazon that flowed nearby. But the enclosed area—though safe from the threats of wild animals—offered no privacy, nowhere for him to commune with his Great Mother.
He’d always known Gaia had many facets to her terrain and personality, and leaving the harsh, determined Siberian mountains to spend the rest of his days in her moist, sensual warmth was a good decision. In his youth, Lev had been better equipped to tolerate the spare beauty and difficult surroundings of his Tunguska birthplace—of cold, stark, jutting earth and sparse greenery. But now, he knew it was fitting to be here, in the soft embrace of Gaia’s crown jewel, as his life waned.
He had been brought to this place so he could help to heal Her, and until he did, Lev’s work would not be finished.
More than a year ago, Roman and his woman Stegnora, along with Varden and Fridkov, had managed the logistics of the evacuation from the Siberian mountains with ease that indicated they’d long prepared for such an eventuality. Lev had chosen the location of their new home, for he’d been led here in a dream, to this very place—more than three decades ago. And Roman, his son, had listened.
Lev shook his head and closed his eyes, pushing away the disconcerting thoughts of his offspring as he drew in a long, deep breath of loamy air. The fragrance of many unnamed flowers accompanied it, and he paused to simply embrace and enjoy Gaia’s many gifts. To offer up thanks to Her.
He settled beside the river—such a small vessel in comparison to its origin, the mighty Amazon—beneath a smooth-trunked tree he’d seen in his dream. It offered upthrusted roots that formed a chair-like space, as if it had waited for him.
Gaia was welcoming him to his new place.
Once comfortable, he reached for his drum and drew it into his lap. The instrument was made with the tight, stretched skin of an elk and an etching of that same creature had been forged onto it by his own hand. Lev wasn’t an artist, but the morning after he awakened from his first shamanic vision, he’d drawn the animal as if guided by an unseen tutor.
The drum felt familiar and comfortable settling between his bent legs, and he closed his eyes. His hands floated to rest on the grass on either side of him.
Take care on the grass, for it is the hair of Gaia.
He’d warned his twin sons Roman and Viktor of that many times when they were young. And now Viktor was gone—possibly dead, or at least returned to the Out-World—while Roman was determined to bring the Out-World to its knees at any cost. Lev felt a pang of loss when he thought of his other progeny—the granddaughter he hadn’t known existed for nearly thirty years. Mariska—Marina, as she was called in the Out-World.
Perhaps she would understand. Perhaps someday, she would be the one to clearly see what the family must do…and the value of the treasure they protected.
He would make certain of it. It was his legacy. Their legacy—one of two with which he’d been blessed and burdened.
A man was fortunate to have one legacy to which he could give his name…but Lev had been given extraordinary gifts. And with them came the responsibility of two.
Marina surely understood one of them…but she must be taught to comprehend and absorb the other. If she did not, if the Aleksandrov line died with her, then Lev would have lived in vain and the gift from Gaia would be wasted.
Lev closed his eyes and inhaled his mother’s essence. Gaia must be protected; She must be healed. He could feel Her labored breaths beneath his palms. He sensed weakness rolling from deep within Her, uncertainty in the vibration of her being. And yet…there was strength shifting beneath the soil. In the depths. He felt it.
It wouldn’t be long before he was with Her…sinking into the earth, turning from skin and bone and soul to dust and ash. But for now…
He closed his eyes, softly, rhythmically tapping his drum, thinking once more on the words of the Sacred, the words by which he’d strived to live his life…the words by which he would continue as long as he breathed and stepped upon the earth.
Gaia is one with us, and all living creatures are one with Her.
And if there be a species of this earth that threatens the whole,
then it shall be expelled.
SEVEN
September 22
Au Pointe, Michigan
Marina felt a variety of emotions as she walked through the overgrown patch of rubble. Anger. Confusion. Awe. Grief.
Until five years ago, her father had lived in a small, neat house on this bluff overlooking Lake Superior in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
What little was left of the house after an explosion that barely missed killing Marina and Gabe was decorated by spindly saplings, stubborn, wavy crabgrass, and, oddly enough, a few straggling blueberry bushes thrusting up from the foundation.
“You think you’ll ever rebuild?” asked Bruce, reaching out to steady her elbow as she climbed over a large, loose chunk of concrete. “This is a nice piece of land. Lakefront and all that.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling much too attractively behind dark sunglasses.
Marina kept a reasonable distance from the edge of the bluff. Lake Superior, cold and granite blue, thrashed against the shore twelve feet below. She had a healthy appreciation of the power of the lake—of any water—and her palms turned a little damp when she thought about being submerged, encompassed, and enveloped by the mighty element. It was a phobia she had battled for more than a decade, and one that had ultimately cost her father his life.
Or, at least, the man she’d believed was her father. As it turned out, Victor Alexander—also known as Viktor Aleksandrov—was not, in fact, her real parent. Why she’d been led to believe this for more than thirty years was a question she’d not yet answered.
“Lakefront—you could call it that, but it’s not really suitable for sitting on the beach or building a dock,” she replied as Bruce walked past her to gaze at the lake surging and churning below. “It does have a nice view.”
“Ye
s…you can almost see Canada from here.” His laugh rumbled low, and she smiled in response before sobering at the rush of memories.
She and Gabe MacNeil had been abducted not very far from here, and taken right across the lake into Canada by the Skaladeskas. But more importantly, the very bluff on which she and Bruce now stood had a hidden submarine launch her so-called father had used for his own escape.
He’d ended up in Siberia, in the hidden lair of the Skaladeskas, just as she and Gabe had done.
Marina wasn’t certain why she’d been drawn to stop here today. The round trip to Au Pointe was nearly two hours out of the way down and around the Keweenaw Bay from where she, Bruce, and the others had found McElroy and Granger…but something had inspired her to make the trip.
She’d only been here once since the Skaladeskas took her to Siberia. Only once since she’d learned the truth about her family and her heritage.
After the events in Detroit, when she, Gabe, and FBI Special Agent Helen Darrow had managed to stop the Skaladeskas from carrying out their threat, the CIA had visited this site and combed through the rubble, looking for evidence and information about the Skalas. Marina knew she wasn’t going to discover anything they hadn’t taken, but the sight of that tall, angular script carved into the walls by the stone pyramids had shaken her…and, because of the unwanted package she’d stowed away in her office, the script reminded her she was inextricably entwined with the Skaladeska tribe.
Boris gave a happy woof, and Marina looked to see him halfheartedly chasing a rabbit through the scrubby grass and brush. Then she turned back to the rubble, searching for the stairs that led into the ground.
“What’s this?” Bruce asked as she began to climb down the brush-strewn, overgrown spiral staircase. “Basement?”
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