by Thomas Locke
“Just a minute, Charlie.” A pause, then, “Will you tell me what this is about?”
The act of retelling calmed Charlie down. It also frightened him. His adrenaline state continued to super-divide the seconds, such that he both heard himself talk and fractioned the thoughts, granting him ample space to worry. What if she refused. What if she did not believe him. What if she analyzed it until he grew frustrated and angry. What if she asked the questions for which he had no answer.
Instead, when he finished, Gabriella did not respond.
“Gabriella?”
“I’m thinking.”
“It happened, Gabriella. Just like I said.”
“I need a minute, Charlie. Please.”
He felt the final splinters of frisson fade away. He felt as though his body was reknitting itself at some core level of pure energy. Returning to a denser state. One of frustrated intensity. Only now there was a brooding hurt, a knowledge that he could remain here no longer. The time for waiting was over. Either she moved with him to this new level, or . . .
Charlie sighed. He was unable to shape an alternative. Either she was with him, or nothing.
When Gabriella finally spoke, it was to say, “Earlier you said something about these images carrying multiple messages.”
His heart surged with an unreasonable hope. “I sure did.”
She was silent an impossible amount of time. Charlie kicked at a tear in the motel carpeting and struggled to hold on to his patience.
“Forgive me for taking so long, Charlie. I am trying to bring all of this into some form of clarity. Do you think this image has multiple layers as well?”
“It wasn’t an image, Gabriella.”
She did not speak.
“But to answer your question, yes, I think there was an underlying message. And I also think that before we get to that, we have to deal with the first thing. The real thing. The meaning you’re busy running circles around.”
Gabriella remained silent.
“This wasn’t some exchange between friends. This was love at its deepest level. Between a man and a woman. You need to come to terms with this. Now.”
Gabriella’s breath huffed slightly over the seven thousand miles.
“You came to me. I did not come to you. You loved me in a way that was both beautiful and total. And you said to me one word.”
She whispered, “Finally.”
Charlie felt the shivers clench his body again. He was hit by a sudden thought. He wondered if this was the only way to cry when the body’s tears were no longer available. To shake through the emotions, humming like a giant tuning fork. Threatened to be torn apart by the simple act of breathing.
Gabriella said softly, “I have thought of this for so long.”
It was Charlie’s turn to be rendered speechless. Unable to fashion words around the tremors.
“I have a lifetime of practice at making the right moves with the wrong men. Byron was far from the first serious mistake I made.” Byron had been her husband when Charlie first met her, a philanderer with enough money to buy his way out of almost anything. But in the end, it had not saved him, or them. Gabriella went on, “Byron was not even the worst. I have laid awake and thought of this. How to start with you. Whether I should risk the vital role you play in our work.”
His vibrations eased to where he could say, “This is not about the team or your work. This is about us.”
“Everything is about the team. These factors cannot be separated. Not anymore.”
Charlie did not argue.
“When I let myself think about you, it seems like all the men I have known were there waiting and watching. All the mistakes, all the wrong choices, all the pain and sorrow and feelings that I could never . . .” She breathed across the distance, so forcefully Charlie felt the heat on his ear. “Charlie?”
“I’m here.”
“Do you think we can move beyond who we once were?”
“It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
They shared the music of silence. The distance between them had never seemed smaller. Finally Gabriella said, “Perhaps we should speak about the multiple layers.”
“On the surface it is about us. And our love.”
She breathed a quiet emphasis to his words. Then, “And below?”
“The timing itself is a message. I had almost given up on you ever being mine. I started to . . .” He did not want to go on. But she had to realize he had reached the brink. “I started to take another direction.”
“Oh, Charlie.”
“But I didn’t. And you came. Almost as though I had earned it by my choice. And did so right at my breaking point.”
Another moment’s silence, then, “There’s more, isn’t there. Another level to the experience.”
“There is, yes. And the CIA operative, Elene Belote, she’s the key.”
Gabriella spoke slowly. “She claims you saved her by coming to her when she was almost lost to the vortex.”
He liked that word. Vortex. It fit the experience. “This is no claim, Gabriella. This is real.”
“Yes. Of course. You are right. It’s just . . . the thought of you going in there, it terrifies me.”
“I have to do this. And you are going to do this with me. Your love is my shield.”
“You have no way of knowing that this will work.”
“Elene is here. I know that. And you will not let me lose myself in the storm. I know that too.”
Gabriella breathed for him a moment longer, the intimacy undisturbed by the distance or his surroundings. Finally she asked, “I cannot imagine what it must be like, joining with you. Is it beautiful?”
The tremors almost robbed him of the power to reply. “Come and see.”
Charlie left his room and knocked on Elene’s door. His phone rang just as she opened the door. Charlie was so jazzed by the conversation with Gabriella and the prospect of better things to come, he was tempted not to answer. He stepped into Elene’s room and checked the readout. He did not recognize the number. He punched the button and demanded, “Yes?”
“Is this Mr. Hazard?”
“Who is speaking?”
“My name is Trent Major.”
“Should I know that name?”
“Elizabeth told me to phone you. She said you’d know what to do.”
“You’re the student.”
“That’s right.”
“Okay. I’m going to pass you over to a friend. Her name is Elene Belote. She’ll tell you where to come.”
“Wait, I need to ask—”
“Sorry, Trent. We’re running to a tight schedule here. Do you have transport?”
“Yes. At least can you tell me . . . is it safe there?”
“I’ll be moving us again as soon as you arrive. Right now I have to do something. I’m going to put you on hold for thirty seconds, then you can talk with Elene.”
Charlie cupped the phone and said to Elene, “You have to take over here. But first I need the names of your colleagues who’ve gotten lost in the maelstrom.”
To his surprise, Elene had the list ready. “You’re going for them?”
“I’m going to try.”
Elene showed very real fear. “How can you be sure you’ll come back?”
Charlie handed her the phone. “I have a secret weapon.”
59
The motel room held a silence that extended far beyond the tawdry walls. The moment’s power swamped Charlie. Everything his eyes fell upon shone with a luminescence that he knew was myth, and did not care. Charlie lay down, fit on the headphones, keyed the controls, and set the iPod on the bed beside his right arm.
He had no idea whether his nerves and his tension would affect his ability to ascend. All he knew for certain was, there wasn’t a thing he could do about either.
The familiar hum had never sounded more musical. Jorge’s voice had never been more welcoming. Counting down had never been more thrilling. The act of letting go never
so fulfilling.
Charlie felt his breathing even out, recognized the gradual easing of his heart rate, which was amazing. Because the deeper he descended into calm, the stronger grew the feeling of arrival.
He ascended. And he waited.
And she came to him.
Charlie knew what was happening this time. He could sense Gabriella and he could move forward and he could meld. There was a new spice to the act, coming as it did with the knowledge that this was her. This was her now. The experience was so intense he could feel his distant body shivering in cadence. The sense of harmony redefined him.
He had no idea how long they lingered. If he could, he would have remained there forever. But he felt drawn by the sense of others needing him. As though he could only now realize the total concern Gabriella carried for her work and her team. From within.
As he started to move away, he realized that Gabriella’s presence remained with him. He knew what he was going to do. It was not so much a conscious decision as stepping into a realization. He would go for Brett. He would stop Elene from entering the tempest and turn back the Marine sent to track her. Then he would go after the first name on Elene’s list.
At least, that was the plan.
Charlie scarcely had time to fashion the directive pointing him toward Brett. And he was there. Back at the entrance to the maelstrom.
The mawing cavity was sharper now, furious in its silent roar. The vortex weaved and spun and sucked at him.
And yet he remained untouched. Frightened, and yet calm.
He fashioned a roar of his own, woven from his passion to leave this terror, and from his shield. He extended the force from the level of his heart. Echoing the silent power with an unvoiced cry of his own.
Brett.
He did not see the man so much as stumble upon him. The maelstrom surrounded them both, great walls of swirling smoke and raging flames, streaked with abysmal hopelessness. Charlie lowered himself to the form huddled upon the surface. He poured out the shielding love, the forgiveness, the hope. He set it as a beacon before the man. And once more he emitted his heart’s cry.
Come home.
60
Reese and Amanda Thorne and Kevin and all of Reese’s team jammed into the hall that ran the length of the Treatment Room. The windows were one-way glass. They could look into the clinic, but the patients could not see out. Since the patients were comatose, Reese considered it another example of bureaucratic stupidity.
The beds all linked into monitors planted in the opposite wall. Facing Reese and her team were eight sets of mirror images. Eight comatose patients lay immobile. Their faces were far too pale. Their arms were arranged outside the covers. Their mouths held breathing tubes. Cables snaked from their chests and heads to the wall. The monitors showed heartbeats that beat in military cadence.
Then there was the ninth patient.
He struggled weakly against the nurse. His mouth moved. Reese stepped to the hall controls and said, “Quiet, everybody.”
She touched the speaker button, and everybody heard a hoarse voice say, “Guardian.”
“I heard you,” the nurse replied. “Now calm down. You’ve had a terrible—”
“Got to go help . . .” All strength left him. He flopped like a doll. “What happened to me?”
A voice to Reese’s left muttered, “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Joss.”
“Sorry.”
The nurse settled him back. The man continued to struggle feebly, as though lashed to the bed by his sheet. The nurse pulled a syringe from her pocket and inserted it into the IV system. She pushed the plunger. Gradually the man settled.
Amanda whispered, “Is he gone again?”
“No.” Reese pointed with her chin through the glass. “Check out the monitor’s top lines. His brain continues to process.”
The nurse turned to the window and asked, “Are you there?”
Reese pressed the button. “Standing by.”
“Has the doctor been alerted?”
Jeff said, “Inbound. Five minutes tops.”
The nurse must have heard him because she said, “His heartbeat is erratic. I suppose that’s to be expected, given how long he’s been out.”
“Stay on him,” Reese said. She released the button. Rested her forehead against the glass. Sighed.
Amanda asked, “What does this mean?”
Reese kept her forehead against the glass. “I have no idea.”
“Find out how it happened,” Amanda ordered. “Make it happen again.”
“I intend to,” Reese said.
The Washington chief touched Reese’s arm. “Step outside with me. Kevin, join us.”
Reese forced her weakened limbs to carry her back down the hall and out into the atrium. The vast chamber echoed with a tense emptiness. Amanda said, “Jason, contact the pilot. Tell him I want to be wheels up in fifteen minutes.” When her aide moved away, Amanda went on, “I have to get back to Washington. The White House intel briefing is this evening. I need you to pay careful attention.”
Reese took a steadying breath. “I’m here.”
Amanda said, “This connection between the student we can’t find and Gabriella Speciale’s team concerns me.”
“It should,” Kevin said. “Especially now that we know what Trent Major was working on.”
“This goes far beyond the student and his research,” Amanda said, her gaze still locked on Reese. “Doesn’t it.”
“Our team is using their system,” Reese said. “Which means they have access to the same potential to unlock national secrets.”
“That cannot happen. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Can you go after them?”
Reese felt her chest unlock. It was the chance she had been aiming for all along. “I can try.”
“It could be dangerous.”
“I know that,” Reese said. “All too well.”
61
Charlie showered before emerging from the motel room. He needed to put some space between himself and what had just happened. He dressed slowly. His entire body ached as from a giant physical exertion, though he had done nothing more than lay prone upon the pallet. He tried to phone Gabriella, but she did not answer. As he walked the motel’s open hallway, he smelled something rich with tomato sauce and spices emerging from the motel restaurant’s kitchen. His stomach rumbled agreeably.
Elene opened her door to reveal the grad student seated by the front window. The young man had the dark hair and olive complexion of a Native American, but his grey eyes were the color of Afghan smoke.
Charlie asked, “Your name is Trent, do I have that right?”
“Yes.” He wiped his hands nervously on his trouser legs as he rose. “Trent Major.”
Elene asked, “How did it go?”
“We’ll know soon enough. But I think good. I went after one of our own who’s been MIA. Then I went for you, since you claim it was me who brought you back—”
“There’s no question about that. You saved me.”
“—and then I went for the guy at the top of your list. Three was all I could handle.” He rubbed his neck. “Is there any way you can check in and see if your friend has returned?”
“I could try,” she said slowly. “But if they’re watching, I might place us and everything we’re doing here at risk.”
Trent said sharply, “That can’t happen.”
Charlie studied the young man. Trent Major carried an enormous amount of strain, but he managed to hold himself together. Charlie liked that. He said, “Let’s check out of here, grab a bite, then go find another place to stay.”
His phone rang. Charlie checked the readout, saw it was Gabriella, and said to the others, “I have to take this.”
He stepped back into his room before answering with, “Are you all right?”
Gabriella’s voice was too full of emotions to remain unbroken. “Oh, Charlie.”
“What
’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She sobbed a long breath. “Brett has woken up.”
Trent Major told them, “Prions are one of the most complex molecules ever discovered. They are often referred to as a misfolded protein, because the atomic structure is the same as the primary protein that makes up the human brain. This refolding process happens when the molecule comes into contact with what is known as an allele, which is a fragment of another amino acid. This forces the normal molecule, which holds itself in an alpha-helical arrangement, to reshape itself into a beta-pleated sheet. When that happens, two events occur almost immediately. First, the reshaped molecules generate additional segments of allele, which pass to other healthy molecules. And second, they become deadly.” Trent paused. “How much detail do you want?”
Charlie replied, “As much as you think we need.”
“Prion forms dense plaque fibers inside an infected brain.”
Elene asked, “What is the rate of infection?”
“One hundred percent.”
“What’s the cure rate?”
“Zero. If a person ingests the misfolded molecule, that person is gone. This transformation takes place at an alarming rate. To put it bluntly, the beta-pleated sheets eat holes in the brain. This results in a steady degeneration of physical and mental abilities, and finally death. In cows, where this phenomenon was first identified, it is known as bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or BSE, or mad cow disease. When it transited to humans, it became known as new variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or nvCJD.”
Elene drew back slightly from the young man seated next to her. “They are growing these molecules in the same building where we transited?”
“So long as the scientists know what they’re doing and maintain a tightly controlled environment, there is no danger.” Trent spoke with the quiet authority of a natural teacher. “And tight control is essential if you are going to operate at the quantum level.”