And her father, her companion in every mystery since the moment she was born, was out of her life, probably forever.
Alex reached out for the cricket’s hand.
The cricket smiled at her.
“You do better work when you collaborate,” the cricket said.
“What?”
“Take the hand,” the cricket said.
She grabbed on to the hand in front of her.
Chapter Two
She was rising through the water. Her beloved dead friends waved and saluted her as she rose past them. Her ears heard the silent sound of the spirits whispering, “I love you.”
She reached her hand out to them.
In a whoosh, she was caught by another hand. An arm went around her waist.
Light flooded her eyes!
Sound battered her ears!
Her senses flooded. Someone shouted orders. Men’s voices, talking all at once, echoed against the pool ceiling.
She sputtered and coughed so violently that she went back under, but the strong arm around her didn’t let go. Another strong person came to her other side. They moved through the water.
She was on the deck of the pool. Her coughing brought up water while her breath sucked it back into her lungs. Someone turned her on her side. The water ran out of her mouth. She threw up a stomach full of pool water.
She drew a breath, and then another.
“Just an accident,” she heard a man’s voice say. “ . . .happens sometimes.”
That must be the man who swam laps. She tried to look, but someone kept her on her side.
“Don’t get up yet, sir,” said a voice she recognized as the female Marine who guarded the pool. The soldier’s long, dark hair was in her face, and her uniform was wet. She pulled off Alex’s goggles. Alex blinked. “Give yourself a minute, sir. We sent for a doc.”
Alex focused on calming the spasms in her airways and the heaving in her stomach. A doctor arrived with a series of questions. Who had saved her? How long was she under?
She recognized the voice that answered. When she tried to look, the female Marine held her in place.
“You’ll take responsibility for . . .” the doctor asked her rescuer.
“Of course,” the man said.
The doctor leaned into her face. She recognized him as the doctor who traveled with one of the ex-Presidents. He returned her smile of recognition and then gave her a fast workup.
“Alex needs a hospital,” the ex-President’s doctor said. “You’ll need a round of antibiotics and . . .”
When the doctor stood to speak with her rescuer, she focused on her breathing again. Unbidden, the cricket’s words returned.
“You do better work when you collaborate,” the cricket had said.
The thought was all consuming. Alex lost track of what was happening around her until the female Marine helped her to a sitting position. The doctor nodded to Alex and moved away.
The man who swam laps knelt down next to her.
“Dad,” she said. The coughing and choking had left her voice hoarse and weak.
“Pumpkin,” retired Senator and General Patrick Hargreaves said.
“You . . . hate . . . swim,” she rasped.
He grinned.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. “You have IV antibiotics in the fridge.”
“No,” she croaked.
“What?” he asked.
“They . . . will . . . kill . . . you,” she croaked out each word. “Mom.”
She swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and looked away from him. She felt him near her.
“Tried . . .once . . .,” she croaked, “ . . .already.”
“Yes, they did,” he said.
“No,” she said.
She felt herself lifted from the ground. Her father carried her from the pool like she was a tiny baby. Beaten by the pool, she was too exhausted to fight him. She heard more than one young soldier offer to take the burden of her from him.
Her father refused.
Wearing only his speedo, her father carried her out of the facility. His security team opened the car door, and he set her inside. He took a warm towel and Alex’s gear from an Army private who’d followed them out.
“Dry off,” Patrick ordered.
He gave her a towel, and she wrapped it around herself like a blanket.
“They will kill you,” she repeated.
“She’s freezing,” Patrick said. “Keep her warm until I’m back.”
The door to the small limousine slammed closed, and Patrick returned to the recreation center. Patrick’s driver turned up the heater fan. Hot air blew on her wet skin.
“Rest,” the driver said in French. “You are safe here. Please, get dressed.”
Alex nodded. Shivering, she made an effort to pull on her sweater. The battle between her wet body and the thick wool took the last of her energy. She gave up on everything else. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. She focused on the luxurious sensation of air moving down her throat and into her lungs. Minutes passed, and she dozed.
“Your team has been called.” The driver’s voice woke her. “They are on their way. I’d suggest that you dress and . . .”
The driver held out a small bottle of a caffeinated energy drink. Alex took the bottle and drank it down. She pulled her sweats over her cold legs and managed to stuff her feet into her faux-fur-lined winter boots. In the rearview mirror, the driver pointed to his head. She yanked her swimming cap from her head.
“Where’s . . .” She swallowed the sound of her sore voice. She looked down at the silicone cap. “My dad?”
“He’ll be here,” the driver said. “As you can imagine, there’s a lot of back slapping that goes on.”
Alex looked at the driver in the rearview mirror.
“1999, sir,” the driver said. “Nigeria.”
“Roux,” Alex croaked. “Farron.”
“Oui,” the driver said.
“Nice . . . see you . . .” Alex gave a soft smile to the man she’d rescued all those years ago. “How . . .?
She gestured to the car.
“You should know that we in French Intelligence have been working night and day,” he said. “You’ve been out of touch.”
“Oui,” she said.
“There is a report awaiting your attention,” the driver said. “We have been able to detain the bookseller. His interrogation will begin today.”
Alex nodded. Her father’s personal Secret Service agent opened the door, and her father got in. He sat across from her in the limousine. His bodyguard got in the front passenger seat.
“They . . . kill . . . me,” she said. Her voice was soft and hoarse. The driver gave her a bottle of water. She smiled her thanks. “They . . . kill . . . Max. You have . . . to . . . no . . . contact.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Patrick said. “Pershing told me he thought this is what you were doing. It’s absolutely preposterous.”
“If they . . . kill . . . us . . . all . . .,” Alex took sips of water between the words, “ . . .we . . . will . . . fail.”
“At what?” Patrick asked.
“Save . . . the . . . world,” Alex nodded.
Patrick laughed. When she looked away from him, he stopped laughing. He looked at the side of her face for a long moment.
“You’re serious,” Patrick said.
Alex pointed to the driver.
“Farron?” Patrick asked.
“We have determined that there is an eighty-three percent chance that the Fey is correct,” the driver said in English. “They will kill all three of you, and, in the Fey’s words, ‘set the world on fire.’”
“Eighty-three percent,” Patrick scowled. “What are the chances of having male-female single-zygote children?”
“While that’s an interesting question, it is quite a bit off point,” the driver said.
Alex swallowed hard and forced herself to speak.
“Cooper’s father gleaned three facts
from the Russian Paperclips,” Alex said. Her voice came out in a low whisper. “The first is that there is a group of people who wish to keep the world at a certain level.”
“A certain level?” Patrick asked.
“A small ruling class and a large, expendable class of workers, which they call ‘chattel,’” Alex said. She tried to clear her throat but ended up coughing. They waited until she was done. “When they determine the world is too peaceful, too connected, or too egalitarian, they burn everything down. When it looks like the peasant class might actually overthrow the ruling class, they burn everything down.”
“Revolution,” Patrick said.
“Revolution, world war, destruction of cultures, civil war, extremists on both sides,” Alex shrugged. Her father’s bodyguard gave her a cough drop, which she unwrapped and popped in her mouth. She nodded and smiled her thanks. “Every time their ‘chattel’ connects with each other in a powerful ‘we,’ they take civilization back to the dark ages. Every world transition has their fingerprints on it.”
“But why?” Patrick asked.
“Real profit is made during growth cycles,” Alex said. “That’s the second thing Cooper’s father uncovered. They bring the world to its knees so that they can profit from the up cycle.”
“And the third?” Patrick asked.
“They communicate in Linear A,” Alex said. “Because it’s a symbolic language, it’s all around us. We don’t recognize it. So much so that our brains don’t even register it. They can communicate with each other right in the open.”
“And the core group?” Patrick asked.
“No one knows,” Alex said, and cleared her throat.
“I’ve never believed in conspiracies, Alex,” Patrick said.
“No one gets along well enough to keep a secret,” Alex joined Patrick in finishing his statement. Alex continued, “I don’t think it’s a conspiracy. Think of it more as a way of communicating within a relatively small family. We can’t see it because we don’t realize it’s language.”
“You think a single family is involved?” Patrick asked. “Something like the tribe of Minoans of Crete?”
“I have no idea,” Alex said. “I’m not even sure that we’re not reading everything the wrong way. Cooper’s father was a Korean War vet. He’d spent a couple years in a camp. He had terrible nightmares and PTSD. He could have misinterpreted everything based on his own hypervigilance and paranoia. But . . .”
“They are trying to kill you,” Patrick said.
“Probably,” Alex said. “It also could be someone else who’s trying to kill me.”
She nodded to the driver.
“Unlikely,” Farron said. “There’s a better-than-ninety-percent chance that the book precipitated the murders of the Fey Special Forces Team.”
“If we don’t decipher Linear A, we’re all in danger,” Alex said. “If you, Max, and I are killed, there’s no one to figure this out. With the rise of the Internet, the demand for democracy in the Middle East, Africa, across Asia, they’re close to completing a cycle. They will burn everything down. Again.”
“But . . .”
“When the world was at peace, and the large underclass of people gained equal footing with each other, they launched the Inquisitions,” Alex said. “We estimate they killed between six and ten million people, mostly women. They reduced their ‘chattel’ population and kept ‘chattel’ numbers low by reducing the number of women capable of breeding.”
“A system of repression designed to protect religious social order,” Patrick paraphrased French historian Jean-Baptiste Guirand.
“Hundreds of years of torture, rape, and murder destroyed the peace and trust between people,” Alex said. “The church’s Inquisition was followed by the Roman Inquisition, the Spanish Inquisition, the Portuguese Inquisition, and whatever else in the name of God and country. In the last century, we’ve seen this cycle over and over again in Africa.”
“There’s no profit in peace,” Patrick said.
“There’s no profit in peasants connecting with each other,” Alex said. “And, who knows? I may be one hundred percent wrong about this. We may decipher Linear A and discover that this group fights for peace. Maybe they’re behind the UN efforts, the peace talks, and the crimes-against-humanity trials. Someone has supported those efforts. It could be them.”
“Is that possible?” Patrick asked.
“Anything is possible,” Alex said. “We won’t know until we decipher the language.”
They fell silent for a moment, each wrapped in their own thoughts. A fast moving armored SUV rolled into the parking lot. The vehicle pulled up next to the limousine. Captain Christopher “White Boy” Blanco got out of the passenger seat and went to Alex’s Jeep CJ.
“That’s my ride,” Alex said.
“Listen,” Patrick said. “About the article.”
Alex turned to look at him.
“I have searched my mind, body, and soul,” Patrick said. “I have spoken with those who know me best and some who love me the least. I have to tell you that . . .”
Patrick reached across to hold her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick said. “I was so caught up in my own pride for you that I . . . didn’t think. And, you’re right. No one knows more than I what happens to people who investigate Linear A. It’s why my teams have never bothered. We had enough to do without taking on some ancient death curse.”
Alex gave him a soft smile.
“I’ve always been so proud, so in awe of you and Max that I . . .,” Patrick said. “I was careless, and I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for that,” Alex said. “I’d like to say that we’re super angry about it, but we love you.”
“And your team, the Fey Special Forces Team, I . . .” Patrick’s face flushed with emotion.
“We don’t know how they fit into all of this,” Alex said.
“But they do?”
Alex gave him a sad nod.
“Now, we’re trying to save your life. Mom’s,” Alex said.
“I’d give my life for yours in a heartbeat,” Patrick said. “Just as I know you’d give your life for your children. Any parent would do the same. Plus, I’m willing to take a seventeen-percent chance that, together, we can solve this riddle in ways we could never do separately.”
Alex turned to look at him.
“I’m not willing to take that risk,” Alex said.
“I’m an old man, Alex,” Patrick said. “I’ve lived more than thirty years longer than my father and forty years past my grandfather. If this is the thing that kills me, so be it.”
“And Mom?” Alex asked. “Are you willing to risk her life because some asshole can’t imagine sharing even a penny of his wealth and power?”
“Not being involved in your life is killing your mother now,” Patrick said. “Our lives have changed so much in the last year. We’re not in Washington anymore. She has only a few friends here. She wanted to be here to be with her children; she’d planned to spend this time in her life with her grandchildren. Not seeing you . . . the other kids . . . well, let’s just say they are loyal to you. She’s a shadow of herself.”
Alex moved to get out of the limousine.
“You purchased the duplex on the other side of you,” Patrick said.
“Ooljee — you remember Marine Sergeant Margaret Peaches’ daughter?” Alex asked. “She came to live with Cian and Margaret around Christmas last year.”
Patrick nodded.
“She grew up in a hogan in the middle of the Navajo reservation. She couldn’t tolerate the noise and activity of our house,” Alex said. “They moved downtown to be closer to the bakery, but Cian couldn’t handle being away from us. He had a full-scale breakdown. We thought we might have to hospitalize him. Living with us and running the house, for better or worse, kept the demons of his mind at bay.”
“PTSD?”
“Among other things,” Alex said. She was unwilling to discuss the demons her brother-
in-law, Cian Kelly, had acquired during the brutal war in Northern Ireland. “They moved in next door. Everyone’s happy.”
“Cian gets to your house . . .”
“Through the back,” Alex said. “We took the fence down to combine the lots. That gives Ooljee a lot of open space, which she likes.”
“And the other side of the duplex?” Patrick asked.
Raz came to her side of the limousine and tapped on the window.
“We haven’t decided what to do with that yet,” Alex said. “We might combine it with Cian and Margaret’s place or rent it or John’s sister is being released soon or . . .”
“Meet me there,” Patrick said. “Later today. Bring Max.”
Alex gave him a long look.
“How about before Sunday dinner?” Alex asked. “Five-thirty or so. Everyone’s coming tonight because of the twins’ birthday.”
“That will work,” Patrick said. “You should know that your mother is coming over this morning to celebrate the twins’ five-month birthday. She’s on the warpath.”
“I should have drowned,” Alex said.
With nothing else to say, Alex grabbed her stuff and got out of the limousine. Her partner, Raz, helped her into the waiting SUV. She slipped next to US Army Captain Troy Olivas on the middle bench in the back of the SUV. Raz got into the passenger seat.
“Drowned?” Troy asked. “That’s new.”
“At least it’s not something someone else did to me,” Alex croaked. She grinned, and the men laughed.
“Where to?” US Army Captain Andrew “Trece” Ramirez asked from the driver’s seat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She caught the faintest outline of the teardrop tattoo that had once adorned Trece’s left eye. She smiled.
“Home,” Alex said. Her voice cracked. She tried to say something else, but nothing came out.
Troy put his arm around her and jostled her.
“Home it is,” Trece said as he put the SUV in gear.
Finding North Page 2