TWENTY-SIX
5:43 P.M., Thursday, July 22, 1999
THE PRESIDENT LEFT FOR CAMP DAVID IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FUNERAL. Lauren made no comment about the full calendar he left behind but calmly rearranged his schedule. The man needed time to mourn; he also needed time to consider his response to Adrian Romulus’s implicit threats. Not a shred of evidence linked Romulus to the car bomb, but the president wholeheartedly believed that Romulus had ordered his assassination.
But how? Kord Herrick, Romulus’s aide, had been visiting Los Angeles the morning of the attack. That almost certainly meant that some trusted individual within the White House had placed the bomb or conveniently looked the other way while covert agents hid the explosive device.
From whispered conversations with Secret Service agents, Lauren knew that a blanket of suspicion had fallen over anyone who seemed to support the movement to affiliate with Europe. That number included half a dozen top advisors, several cabinet members, and a few leaders of the military. Even the vice president, who had told the Washington Post that Adrian Romulus was the greatest orator since Winston Churchill, found himself under investigation, and, most personally unnerving to Lauren, the president had even looked at Daniel Prentice with doubt in his eyes.
Once the president had departed the White House, Lauren and Daniel slipped through a security checkpoint and went for a walk around the Mall’s Reflecting Pool. The sun was coming down in the sky but hadn’t yet reached the tops of the trees that edged the Mall’s long expanse.
They walked in silence for a long time, their hands intertwined, and Lauren wondered what the future held for them. Daniel had been her Rock of Gibraltar in the last few days; he’d shown up when she needed him and remained until the worst was over. But life had to go on, and she had no idea where the path of her life was leading.
“I thought you did a nice job with the funeral service,” Daniel offered, breaking into her thoughts. “I didn’t know the first lady very well, but I think she would have been pleased. The other families—the driver’s, and the Secret Service agents’—they seemed grateful for all you did.”
Lauren looked away toward the shimmering surface of the water. “I didn’t do much—no more than I should have. They gave their lives in the service of their country.” She tilted her head and looked up at Daniel. “Just like you nearly did, back in Desert Storm.”
Daniel laughed softly. “Please, Lauren. I was no hero. It was a job, and I was glad to do it, but I outgrew my patriotism not long after that.”
Lauren let the comment pass. Daniel had made no secret of his bitterness toward the military machinations that had taken his father, but he couldn’t paint the entire armed forces with a single broad brush, no more than she could color all millionaires uncaring and egotistical. She had discovered, much to her surprise, that there were exceptions to every stereotype.
“I’ll miss Victoria.” She whispered the words. “But I’ll not mourn her. I could never mourn her life. It was too precious. And I can find joy in knowing she’s with the Lord.”
Daniel stopped walking and turned, eyeing her with a calculating expression. “You did it, didn’t you?” His eyes sparkled as though he were playing a game. “Was it Victoria—or the preacher in Brussels? Who convinced you to become a capital-C Christian?”
Lauren felt her jaw drop. “You can tell?”
“Of course I can.” One corner of his mouth twisted upward. “You forget, my mother is a Bible-reading, born-again, baptized believer. She claims a long list of other adjectives, too, but I stopped trying to keep up with them all.”
Lauren wondered if she should feel guilty for the wave of relief that washed over her. She had been wondering how to tell Daniel that her life had been fundamentally changed, but now she wouldn’t have to say anything. He just knew.
“Does it bother you?”
Daniel snorted, then pulled her fingers from his and cradled her hand against his chest. “Would it matter if it did? I’m not sure I understand what drives people to that kind of faith, but I know it’s pretty much a done deal.” He bent slightly to look down into her eyes. “Am I right?”
She nodded numbly. “Afraid so. I just got to the place where I didn’t know whom to trust—and I remembered what that bookbinder said in Brussels. God is the only one to whom I could really entrust my life.”
Daniel turned to face her then. He lowered his head and stared at her hand as if it were some rare treasure, then slowly began to stroke her palm. “I was beginning to hope that you could trust me.”
Lauren lowered her head as unexpected tears stung her eyes. She wanted to trust him, but years of political service had taught her not to completely rely on anyone. And she couldn’t lose her heart right now, not until she knew what Sam intended to do about his presidency. Eighteen months remained in his first term, and in less than a year Sam Stedman would have to decide whether or not he would run again. Before last weekend the president had been eager to continue his work through a second term, but now Lauren feared he had lost the heart for politics.
Yet her job was to remain by his side until he released her. That commitment might involve every ounce of her time and energy for the next eighteen months . . . or the next five years.
“Daniel—” Her voice, like her nerves, was in tatters. “I care for you very much. But I’ve told you, I cannot commit to a serious relationship right now. The president needs me—and now he needs me more than ever.”
He did not look up, but his fingers were cool and smooth as they caressed hers. “Believe it or not, I understand.” His voice sounded as if it came from far away. “I’m a little overcommitted myself with the international Millennium Projects. I’m sure I’ll be very busy in the days ahead.”
The grooves beside his mouth deepened into a full smile as he looked into her eyes. “You’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, Lauren. I know what I’d like to develop with you, but I also know who you are. I won’t ask for the sort of relationship that would leave you feeling torn between two responsibilities.”
I’m a little overcommitted myself. . . . The words rang like a death knell in Lauren’s brain. Daniel was a nice guy, but even now he was probably yearning to get back to his work. Some antiquated sense of chivalry had brought him galloping to her rescue, but Daniel Prentice did not intend to stick around for the old-fashioned business of winning and wooing.
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” The sudden and sharp words hurt her throat. Calmly, deliberately, she pulled her hand from Daniel’s grasp. “And I am grateful for your coming. In the hospital, I was feeling so alone and bewildered—well, it meant a lot to look up and see you standing there.”
He looked directly at her then, a spark of some indefinable emotion lighting his eyes. Lauren felt her heart flow toward him, but she steeled herself against the tide of emotion and thrust her hands behind her back. “We’d better get going.” Lifting her chin, she turned and began to retrace her steps back to the White House.
Daniel quickly caught up to her. “So this is good-bye?” he asked, lifting one brow. The look in his eyes seemed to say that it wouldn’t have to end if she would just say the word, but Lauren didn’t know what he expected her to say. If he wanted her to quit her job, the answer would have to be no.
“I’m afraid it is.” She stopped on the sidewalk and faced him, then lightly pressed her fingertips to the front of his shirt. “Daniel, let’s not make this difficult for each other. We’ll go back to the office, and you can get your things and head back to New York. If something comes up with the Millennium Project, feel free to call me, but don’t feel obligated. I’m not a child, and I don’t like playing games.”
“Fine.” His voice was clipped, and for an instant Lauren feared she had offended him. But he gave her a polite smile, then extended his arm in an expansive gesture. “Shall we go? I think you’re going to be just fine.”
Lauren nodded, and as they walked back toward the White House she told herself that all
was how it should be. They were parting amicably, as friends and professionals. She had not weakened in her commitment to the president, and Daniel had behaved like a perfect gentleman.
Why, then, did her heart feel as if it were crumbling into pieces?
In the quiet of his Washington hotel room, Kord Herrick plugged in his laptop, activated the PGP encryption program, then placed his call. A moment later he heard Romulus’s baritone growl rumble from the speakers of his notebook PC. “General Herrick?”
“Yes, sir.” Kord couldn’t keep a smile from his voice. “Did you watch the event?”
“Yes.” Romulus sighed heavily. “And I was most moved, General, by the sight of you wiping away a few tears. You seemed quite the sympathetic humanitarian.”
Kord moved quickly past the compliment. “I’m certain Stedman will cooperate now. The man is shell-shocked. Mitchell and the rest of his staff are trying to cover for him, of course, but it is not business as usual. You saw him in the video conference—he’s clinging to reality. You could drop a bomb on London, and Stedman wouldn’t bat an eye.”
A deep and easy chuckle rolled over the secure phone line. “Ah, the sectors are coming together now, General! The Middle East, the West, the Pacific Rim. All are gathering around Caesar’s old dominion. I wonder what that old Roman would think if he could see how the Empire has expanded.”
Kord laughed softly, then felt his eyes mist in a nostalgic memory. A strange sense of déjà vu swept over him—as a young man, he had worked with another young dreamer, another brilliantly insightful would-be emperor. But Hitler had weaknesses, including a despicable desire to be dominated by women. Romulus had no such weakness.
“Tell me, General, about Daniel Prentice. He seemed a little unsettled when I glimpsed him on the video. Is he still with us?”
“He’s torn by his attachment to Miss Mitchell, who stands firmly with the president.” Kord rested his head on his hands but took pains to be certain his face remained turned toward the tiny microphone in the laptop. “When I spoke to him, however, he seemed unwilling to dismiss your offer entirely. I believe he is neutral at this point. But an hour ago, one of our agents learned that he has booked a flight back to New York. He’s going home.”
“We must win him to our side.” The command contained a strong suggestion of reproach. “Have you not learned, General, that those who are not for us are against us? Daniel Prentice may be impartial at the moment, but he will not remain so. And his is a great intellect. I want it.”
“Of course, sir.” Kord straightened his posture. “I’ll call the young man. Have I your permission to increase the offer?”
“You can promise him the kingdoms of the world if you’d like.” Sarcasm laced Romulus’s dry voice. “Just get his allegiance. I want him on our side.”
The telephone line clicked, and Kord sighed as he shut down the computer. He checked his watch, then looked around the room. If he was lucky, he’d have just enough time for a quick catnap, then he’d have to catch a flight to New York.
TWENTY-SEVEN
10:45 P.M., Thursday, July 22, 1999
BACK ON PARK AVENUE, DANIEL STOOD MOTIONLESS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE foyer outside his apartment and studied the carved front doors. This cold, marble place was less homelike than his cluttered office, but after the emotion of the funeral and his departure from Lauren, Daniel didn’t want to face his employees and pretend that all was well.
He felt restless, disjointed, almost uncomfortable in his own skin, and the discomfort was exacerbated by the fact that Daniel couldn’t figure out why he felt so out of sorts. His time in Washington had been stressful, of course, but he had been there to comfort Lauren, not to be comforted. His nerves throbbed with weariness, but that was as much a result of the flight and the late hour as any emotional drain. Now he wanted nothing more than to return to work, his personal consolation, but he knew he was operating at less than full power. He needed rest.
Shaking his head, Daniel turned the key in the lock, then moved through the gleaming entry and into the kitchen. He tossed his briefcase upon the counter, then opened the refrigerator, and grimaced when the odors of rotting fruit reached his nose. Slamming the door, he moved to the pantry. He wanted snack food, potato chips and pretzels and chocolate chip cookies—crunchy, salty, and sweet foods that were bad for the waistline and even worse for the heart.
The foyer phone rang, shattering the marble stillness with its shrill chirping. Daniel paused, wondering if Lauren had this unlisted number, then decided to ignore the caller ID. She wouldn’t call. She’d been quite firm in her refusal of his affections, quite adamant in her instructions that they should just go their separate ways.
How had he ever imagined that they might share a future? She was married to her career in general and Samuel Stedman’s presidency in particular. Her four-year stint would certainly expand to eight if Stedman proceeded with his reelection plans. With his wife murdered in the service of her country, Stedman was a virtual shoo-in for the next election. Sympathy alone would bring him at least 60 percent of the vote.
The answering machine in the library clicked on as Daniel grabbed a bag of chips and searched for the expiration date. Guaranteed fresh until December 31, 1998.
“Great,” he muttered, crunching the bag beneath his arm. “Only seven months too old.” He reached for a glass, tossed in a handful of ice from the freezer, then grabbed a can of cola. Armed for the night, he moved into the library to listen to the voice rumbling over the answering machine.
“. . . desperately need to talk to you,” the caller was saying. Daniel frowned, then lifted his brows when he recognized the voice and accent— the speaker was General Herrick. Daniel was mildly amazed that the general had bothered to search for Daniel’s unlisted home phone, but not at all surprised that he had managed to find it.
He sank onto the tufted leather sofa and let his head fall to the padded armrest.
“I have spoken to Mr. Romulus,” General Herrick droned on, “and he is most concerned about the future global implementation of the Millennium Code. In light of recent events in the United States, we are thinking that perhaps you would be wise to move Prentice Technologies to Brussels, or even Paris. Mr. Romulus would personally cover any moving expenses, as well as provide suitable office space for you and your associates.”
“How would you like that, Dr. Kriegel?” Daniel lifted a toast as if the professor sat in the wing chair opposite the couch. “Would you like to move to the French Riviera? Or perhaps London would be more your cup of tea?”
“In any case, Mr. Prentice, we want you on our team. Please call me as soon as you are available. I am in New York, and anxiously awaiting your call.” Herrick left two phone numbers, then clicked off the line.
Daniel stared dumbly at the wall and ripped open the bag, then popped a chip into his mouth. It had the consistency of a manila envelope, and about the same taste.
Daniel took a big swallow from his glass, washed the chip down, then dropped the bag to the carpeted floor.
What had he done with his life? He had amassed a multimillion-dollar corporate empire, charmed world leaders, and paved a technological road into the next millennium. His picture had graced a dozen magazine covers. He had dated beautiful, successful, even powerful women. And Adrian Romulus, who would soon stand at the head of the most powerful political force the world had ever known, was practically begging him to join his ambitious enterprise.
So why was he lying here in the dark . . . alone?
A sense of anticlimax washed over him. His mother would say that he needed a wife, but the one woman he could imagine living with forever had other plans. To make matters worse, she had become a Christian, and the more she got into Jesus, the more unholy Daniel would seem by comparison. He could never measure up to what Lauren expected of a man, and the more she prayed for Mr. Perfect, the less likely Daniel would be to qualify.
He shifted onto his side and rested his head on his hand. His father hadn�
�t been perfect, but he’d been a Christian, too—or had he?
Daniel frowned and slowly submerged himself into memory. He remembered the airplane models, his father’s books, the smell of leather and dust in the little bedroom his father used as a den. He thought he could remember the man praying at his bedside, but he couldn’t be sure— perhaps it was an illusion wrought by an overactive imagination and a boy’s yearning for the father who would never return.
Memory closed around him, filling him with a longing to know more, to separate myth from truth. He rolled off the couch and stumbled toward the library closet, where several taped boxes lay beneath his never-used Rollerblades and his spare tackle box.
A box at the bottom of the heap was marked with a brilliant blue marker: Dad’s books. The handwriting was his mother’s.
Kneeling inside the closet, Daniel shoved the junk aside and pulled the box out from the rubble. It was not large, but it was heavy; it took both hands and a concerted effort to bring it out of the closet and into the light. Daniel pulled it toward the library table, then reached up, switched on the lamp, and began to rip away the tape.
A few moments later Daniel had lifted out more than twenty books. For some reason he had imagined that his father collected books about theology or history or warfare, but nearly all the books stacked around him dealt with biblical prophecy. He pulled another book out of the box and studied it a moment: The Last Days and the Antichrist—A Warning for the Final Generation.
Good grief, he didn’t realize his father was a gloom-and-doomer. He flipped through the pages, recognizing his name in several places—references to the biblical book of Daniel, of course—then paused on a page illustrated by a crude sketch. The sketch showed a woman clad in a Roman toga, riding upon a bull advancing from waves onto a beach. Beneath the sketch was a quote:
The prophet John described the coming kingdom of the Antichrist in his vision of a “beast with two horns.” In another passage, he described “a beast arising out of the sea.” In Revelation 17, John also described his vision showing the unholy alliance between the false world church of the last days and the rising kingdom of the Antichrist. This prophecy shows the false church in the symbol of a harlot riding upon a “scarlet beast” representing the ten-nation confederacy of the revived Roman Empire. The Antichrist will persecute Israel and defile her holy temple, which will be rebuilt in the last days—after the Jews return from exile to become a nation again.
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