by Ted Dekker
She had a way with words. “Her well-being? Or yours?”
“Without a memory of so much trauma, she’ll find peace. Surely you can see that.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, because the MEP won’t work with her. Period. You’ll just traumatize her more.”
“You can’t know it won’t work. We have to try.”
He peered at Rachelle through the glass. She still hadn’t moved.
“It won’t work. It has never worked.”
“Be that as it may, the decision is final. Top down. This goes beyond me, Steve, you have to know that.”
There was that claim again.
“Who’s the top, Theresa?”
“The people who keep our doors open.”
“But who, specifically? And why does Rachelle threaten them so much? This can’t simply be about her abilities.”
A long pause this time.
“I’m not sure I really know, Steve. All I know is that the decision is final.”
There it was. Nothing short of blowing the place up could stop them now, and even if he had the mind to counteract DARPA, doing so would only put Rachelle in more danger. Without him to watch over her, there was no telling what they would do.
“When?”
“Tonight. The sooner the better.”
Dear God. He had to buy some time.
“She’s under too much stress. Look, just give me a couple days with her. Let her grieve. I’m the only tether to sanity she has left. Let me talk to her. Take her to the church tomorrow. Reassess on Monday. Give me that much and I won’t buck this.”
Silence.
“Two days, that’s all I ask. For the sake of all that’s decent, give her at least that much time.”
“Monday. I can live with that. But come Monday, I don’t want to hear this again.”
“Fine.”
The line went dead.
Steve took a deep breath, slipped his phone into his pocket, and looked at Rachelle through the glass window.
He had to find out more about the desert world in David’s note. The dreams, not the MEP or the drugs, might hold the key that unlocked Rachelle’s recovery. If she showed some kind of significant change in the next two days, Theresa might capitulate.
He would give Rachelle a dose of Kinazeran tonight.
She would dream again.
Decision made.
9
VLAD VAN VALERIK. That was one of his names.
And this . . . Vlad stood on Pennsylvania Avenue, staring at the White House rising from its manicured lawns . . . This was his game. Corny, yes, but he preferred mixing human slang with more formal structures of communication.
Here, for the time being at least, beat the heart of the fourth pillar of power in this world, as he saw it. Beijing, Brussels, Moscow, and Washington, the latter arguably still being the most powerful of the four. But not for long, not unless significant changes were made.
He was that change.
Or so he’d successfully argued five years earlier, three years before Calvin Johnson was elected to the highest office in the land. The 49th Mystic had just turned twelve when Vlad first made his proposal to the then-senator from Oklahoma. Vlad had far more in his purview than haunting the 49th in her dreams while he waited for her to come of age.
He’d known within a year of her birth that he would likely need to return to Other Earth for a refined power this world’s technology couldn’t yet deliver. Her mind was too strong.
Now he had that power.
It was Saturday, and he’d arrived to discover that President Johnson intended to play golf. A brief call to his chief of staff, Karen Willis—did she still wear her dark hair short?—altered those plans. Now the politicians both waited for Vlad in the West Wing, nerves rattled, no doubt.
As they should be. Johnson’s presidency had been bought and paid for by none other than Vlad van Valerik, through the most ingenious means. Money. Funding well hidden from all their limiting laws. The wealth that came so easily to Vlad was not so easily transferred. Nonetheless, here they were, as planned.
But this wasn’t the primary reason for their rattled nerves.
The real cause: StetNox malware, the most powerful weapon in what would soon become another cyber war, launched and won in a single, massive attack. This was his gift to them. StetNox—meaning “perpetual blindness”—was now dormant but could be activated by him. Only him.
Perhaps Rachelle also rattled their nerves. More specifically, his instructions to them regarding her treatment at DARPA. But this was far above their pay grade.
He rolled his shoulders, easing the form-fitting suit he’d helped himself to at Michael’s Elegant Wear, five blocks east. Black. He’d opted for cowboy boots because he thought they made at least a small statement—Texas was by far the wealthiest state in their shaky union. For now.
“And so it begins,” he muttered, and he headed down the sidewalk.
It took him ten minutes to reach the main entry, fully in form as the Russian diplomat called to meet with the president regarding trade. Another fifteen to wait for and clear their security. Another five to reach the Oval Office.
He’d been here on only two other occasions. Most of his dealings had been off-site with Karen Willis, the hardnosed and overconfident staffer. He’d insisted Johnson select her as chief of staff long before the election.
Two Secret Service agents stood in the hall leading up to the door. Vlad ignored both.
The staffer who escorted him knocked lightly, opened the door, and announced him.
“Show him in.”
Vlad was already walking through when she turned to usher him in. Calvin Johnson stood in front of the desk, one hand in his pocket, more gray than when Vlad had last seen him. Tall and solid, dark trimmed hair, navy blue suit with a yellow tie. One look at his steely gray eyes and Vlad saw through his rigid mask. The man was deeply religious and nearly fanatical in his beliefs that some kind of end was drawing nigh. Vlad had helped him along with those beliefs because he was right—just not in the way Johnson thought he was.
Karen stood by one of the two couches. Yes, dark hair still short to match the president’s, a black business suit, black heels.
The president pulled his hand from his pocket and stepped forward, smiling cordially.
Before he could offer any customary welcome, Vlad strode to Karen.
“So good to see you again, princess.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. “Always so good.”
Color flushed her face. “Hello, Vlad.” He had this effect on all the women he’d chosen to seduce. In the case of Karen, seduce and then reject, leaving her confused and off balance.
“You really should forget the makeup, you know. Pale skin suits your dark eyes.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And I’ll say again, assuming you’re alive to hear.”
He turned to Johnson, who appeared slightly flummoxed by his lack of decorum.
“I see the office has gone to your head, Calvin.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked to the window. “It’s time to remember where you came from, Mr. President.”
Behind him, silence.
“Remind me,” Vlad said.
“We both know where I came from,” Johnson replied.
“And where you’ll go if I let the cat out of the bag. So humor me. I want to know how well you understand the situation.”
“Excuse me?” Karen, impressing her boss. “You vanish four months ago after giving me instructions about DARPA and the girl from Project Eden—instructions which, by the way, make no sense—and now you suddenly reappear and walk in here as if you own the office? Show some—”
“But I do own this office,” he said, turning. “I owned it the moment you agreed to my release of StetNox five years ago. By now the malware hides on virtually every computing device in this country, if not the world. You pay nearly half a billion dollars fo
r the development of a piece of software to work precisely as you need it to, and it had better. Trust me, it has and will. It is also strictly prohibited by a hundred privacy laws. As was my funding of your campaign. Are we forgetting?”
No, they weren’t.
“So tell me why I did all of this for you. I’ve come a very, very, very long way, leaving all but six of my friends at home, and I want to hear you say it.”
Karen looked at Johnson, who hesitated before answering. “All our algorithms confirmed your own, which predicted a ninety-seven percent likelihood that the United States would collapse as a viable economic society within seven years.” He stopped.
“And?”
“The problem is, most of our country is more worried about terrorist attacks and personal privacy than their own failing economy, propped up by overwhelming debt.”
“And?”
“You offered a way out. A threat that would allow me reasonable cause to introduce new controls and make the corrections I think are appropriate.”
“What kind of new controls?”
“We both know!”
“Say it. Don’t worry, I’m not wired this time.”
Hard stares. This was news to them.
“Tell me.”
“Once activated, the StetNox malware will give my team unrestricted access to and control of all activity on the web. The world will be blind to the source behind the systematic redistribution of wealth. When pushback comes, we finger terrorists.”
“You will have power to liquidate any personal or corporate account you wish at your whim. Untraceable and without recourse. At the touch of a few buttons, millions of rich and middle-class will be bankrupted overnight. Welcome to the digital age. I can hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth already. They should have stuck with silver coins.” A beat. “And the outcome?”
The president hesitated, but he couldn’t hide the enthusiasm in his tone. “A major correction that levels the playing field by stripping individual wealth for the good of national reconstruction.”
“Under martial law.”
The president gave a curt nod. “If needed.”
It wouldn’t be needed for the simple reason that the collapse would come without their help. All great nations rose and fell like the changing of seasons, and it was this country’s turn. The only question was who would be in power to rebuild. Beneath all of Johnson’s altruistic bravado, the ambition for control justified by sacred beliefs motivated him far more than idealism.
Not unlike the Elyonites.
“Now tell me what I get out of it, Karen.”
She held his stare. The stronger of the two.
“Clearly, you have this office by the tail.”
Bold but honest choice of terms.
“True. But as I recall, there’s more.”
“Our full cooperation with what was Project Eden and all those who survived its collapse. Which has never made sense.”
“No.” Vlad walked to the president’s desk and leaned back against the edge. “But today it will. Tell me you’ve carried out those instructions that made no sense to you.”
“Of course. The drugs have worked as you said they would. The MEPs failed . . .”
“As I said they would. Not to fear.” He crossed his arms. “Tell me about her. How has she been getting along these last four months?”
Johnson settled on the couch and sat on the edge of the cushion, still uncomfortable. “What is it with her?”
“She’s the 49th Mystic,” Vlad answered.
“A mystic . . . What do you mean, mystic?”
They were uncomprehending and he had no desire to make converts of them. “Just tell me how she’s been getting along.”
Karen followed her boss’s lead and sat across from him. Crossed her legs, folded her arms. “Based on reports from the director—”
“Theresa Williams.”
“Correct. There are still a lot of unanswered questions, but DARPA isn’t pursing them. They know someone named Vlad Smith is responsible for Project Eden’s collapse, but they’ve spun the evidence.” She cocked her brow. “I’m assuming that was you.”
“I’m not interested in what I did. Back to the girl. Is she strong? Does she remember?”
“She thinks she’s schizophrenic. It’s a bit monstrous, if you ask me. They have her so doped up she hardly knows who she is anymore. They say her memory’s still there, but she’s discounting most if not all of it.” A pause. “Her father died in his sleep last night.”
“Yes, of course. I killed him.”
“You?”
More news. “Never mind. Does the girl still have her . . . gifts?”
“You mean her auditory hallucinations?”
“They aren’t hallucinations. But I was referring to her more physical skills.”
Karen’s left leg swung on her right. “She developed some interesting epigenetic mutations in Project Eden. Exceptional hand-eye coordination, reaction speed, that sort of thing.”
“This is all well and good,” Johnson interjected, “but I still don’t see her connection to StetNox.”
“And as I said, you will.” Back to Karen. “How did she react to her father’s death?”
“She’s devastated.”
“Yes. Yes, of course she is!”
They both looked at him as if he’d lost his grip on sanity.
“I would be as well,” he said, easing his tone. “She’s been attending church as I instructed?”
“Every Sunday.”
The president set his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. “Look. I didn’t agree to all of this so you could play whatever sick game you have going. This is absurd. We’ve specifically delayed plans of our own to facilitate your plan. Meanwhile, we have a meltdown steaming our way, and all you’ve given us is a list of unfulfilled promises and ridiculous demands concerning some poor girl who’s been through—”
“Sit!”
Johnson glared at him.
“Now, before I rip out your tongue and shove it down your throat.”
The president eased back down, face flushing with rage.
Vlad stood from the desk, tired of the man’s arrogance. “Listen carefully. I will only say this once. That innocent little girl you call Rachelle Matthews is the most dangerous human alive on the planet.”
He spoke with the authority of one who knew far more than they could, which was true.
“There’s a great darkness coming to the worlds. A far greater danger than any of your own paltry concerns. Forget what you think you know about me. In the end, you’ll be grateful for the gift of her demise. Do you understand this?”
“If she’s so dangerous, why didn’t you just kill her?”
“That’s not how it works!” he snapped. Then relaxed. “I’ll deal with her my way, which includes your participation as I see fit.”
He paced.
“The World Security Summit is scheduled in four days’ time. My work with the girl ends there, while the world watches. If I succeed, I will activate the StetNox malware and you will have your power. What you do with that power, I don’t care. Announce yourself supreme ruler, reduce every American citizen to rags, and rebuild your utopia if you so desire. But if I fail, your crimes will be exposed for the world to see. Do I need to be any clearer?”
Understanding slowly darkened the man’s mind. No one liked being a puppet.
Vlad loved puppets.
“The girl is my only concern now, which means she is yours as well,” he said. “I strongly recommend you do precisely as I say.”
The president sat back. Wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with his forearm. He finally nodded. “Go on.”
Satisfied, Vlad withdrew the small test tube of yellow fluid he’d withdrawn from one of his legion only an hour earlier. It was new blood, unlike his own, which had been defiled by hundreds of years in this plane. Fastened around it with a rubber band was a note with simple instructions.
“You wi
ll give this to the director at DARPA.” He handed it to the chief of staff, who took it between her thumb and forefinger.
“What is it?”
“Something you don’t want to touch much less ingest. Please put it away.”
She placed the glass tube in a tissue and set it gently in her handbag.
“Tomorrow,” Vlad continued, “both of you will attend the services at Washington National Cathedral.”
“That would be a considerable—”
“I need the media there,” Vlad interrupted. “I also need the world to see her with you. And it will help to have a crisis to distract the public before the main event. A major distraction that will whip the world into a frenzy before you unleash your own economic Armageddon.”
Johnson was cagey. “What kind of crisis?”
“One that begins with your giving the fluid I just handed you to DARPA and attending the services at Washington National Cathedral tomorrow morning.”
“And then?”
Vlad strode to the sofa, lowered himself onto the firm cushions, withdrew a folded piece of paper from the pocket inside his jacket, and handed it to the president.
“And then this,” he said.
Johnson glanced at Karen, then took the instructions. Slowly opened the paper.
Vlad leaned back, crossed his legs, and waited for the man’s response, already knowing that he would agree.
One way or the other, the world was about to change.
10
HOW CAN a person go from such a lofty air of security and gratefulness to the darkness of hell itself in the space of only one day? That was me as I lay in the dungeon below the Elyonite city after Vlad had awakened me in my cell, bound me, then killed my father with his poison. I knew death was a shadow, but that shadow was an abyss so deep I would have gladly given my life to be saved from it.
Follow the finger to the moon, daughter. Follow it until you can follow it no farther. When I’d first heard the voice before Vlad’s coming, my heart had soared. I knew something was about to happen. Something that would free me from imprisonment—how else would I follow the moon?
But that something wasn’t my freedom. It was the death of my father.