Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  Smack!

  The last bullet hit the man squarely in the back of his head. Carlos saw the man thrown forward with the signature impact of the slug, saw the spray of blood. Hunter disappeared into the tall grass.

  Carlos lowered the gun. Was he dead? No one could have survived such a hit. He couldn’t leave to check as long as the woman was free and the transmitter was in his pocket. But Hunter was going nowhere soon.

  Movement.

  The grass. He was crawling?

  No, he was up, there, along the trees. Running!

  Carlos jerked the gun up and emptied the last clip with three more shots. Hunter vanished into the trees.

  Carlos closed his eyes and settled a rage pounding in his skull. Impossible! He was sure he’d hit the man in the head.

  Twice the man had eluded him after direct hits. Never again. Never!

  The woman’s ingenuity was quite unexpected. Admirable in fact.

  He walked down the stairs and stared at Monique, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed. He very nearly put a bullet through her leg. Instead, he walked down the hall and slugged her in the gut.

  Perhaps he would have to hurt her after all.

  28

  IT HAPPENED in three segments, branded in Thomas’s memory, still hot from the burning. He’d been dodging a spray of bullets, sprinting for the forest, only a few steps from the first tree and sure he’d escaped. Segment one.

  Then a bullet had struck his skull. It felt as though a sledgehammer had hit the back of his head. He was flying forward, headlong, parallel to the ground. Everything screamed with pain and then everything went black. Segment two.

  He didn’t remember landing. He was either dead or unconscious before he hit the ground. But he did remember rolling over after hitting the ground. He was panting and lying on the ground, staring at the blue sky.

  He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t unconscious. And a quick check of his head confirmed that he wasn’t even wounded. He was only winded. Segment three.

  He’d scrambled for the jungle and run into the trees, chased more by thoughts of what had just happened to him than by the last few bullets.

  He’d been shot in the head. He’d lost consciousness before dying. But in the moment before dying he’d awakened in the colored forest, and although he couldn’t remember it, he knew he’d been healed by a fruit or the water. For all he knew, the whole journey had lasted only one second.

  When he returned to the jungle, it took him two hours to reestablish contact with the base, get to the landing zone, and make the return trip in the helicopter. Time to think. Time to consider a quick trip back to the compound to get Monique out. Or retrieve Muta.

  But he knew neither would be there.

  A police helicopter checked the place out before his own pickup and confirmed his suspicions. Not a soul.

  Even if she had still been there, he couldn’t take her. He might be able to withstand the odd lethal blow, but she couldn’t. He felt both indestructible and powerless, an odd mix.

  Maybe he hadn’t been hit. Was there blood on the grass back there? He’d been in too much of a hurry to look. It was all a bit fuzzy. Just the three segments.

  Alive, dead, alive.

  “You what?”

  “I paid it,” Jacques de Raison said.

  Thomas stepped into the office, dumbstruck. His dungarees were caked with mud, his shirt torn from the three-mile run back to meet the pickup, and his boots were leaving marks on Raison’s floor.

  “You actually gave them the vaccine?”

  “They gave me one hour, Mr. Hunter. My daughter’s life is on the line—”

  “The whole world’s on the line!”

  “For me it’s one daughter.”

  “Of course, but what about the information I radioed in?”

  “The hour was up. I had to make a choice. They wanted only a sample of the vaccine and a file with a copy of our master research data left in a car two miles from the airport. Monique will be in our custody within two days. I had to do it.”

  Thomas dug into his pocket, pulled out the ring. A gold band with a ruby perched in a four-point setting. He tossed it to Raison.

  “What’s this?”

  “That’s the ring your daughter gave me to persuade you that I was telling the truth. If you heat the vaccine to 179.47 degrees and hold that temperature for two hours, it will mutate. The man who has this information is named Valborg Svensson. He also may have the only antivirus.”

  Jacques de Raison’s face lightened a shade. He toyed with the ring absently. “Why didn’t you bring her out?”

  “Are you listening to me? I understand you’re distressed, but you have to pull yourself together. I found her, exactly as I said I would. If you don’t buy the ring, then the fact that Svensson changed the deal on you because I found them is enough.”

  The man dropped heavily to his chair.

  “Now they have the vaccine?” Thomas ran a hand through his hair. This was the worst of all worlds. Nothing he was doing was having any real impact on the unfolding drama. Maybe there was no way to stop this matter of the histories.

  Kara hurried in. “Thomas! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. They have the vaccine. They have Monique; they have the vaccine; they know exactly how to force the mutation; they may have the antivirus.”

  “But the dream. It was real.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Peter, I want you to change the testing parameters. Try the vaccine at 179.47 degrees and maintain the heat for two hours.”

  Jacques de Raison seemed to have come out of his stupor. He was on the phone with the lab. “Watch for mutations and get back to me immediately.”

  He dropped the phone into its cradle.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Hunter. It’s been a very hard two days.” All business now. “I believe you. At any rate, the tests will speak for themselves in two hours. In the meantime, I suggest we contact the authorities. I know Valborg Svensson.”

  “And?”

  “And if it is true, if it is him . . .” Dots were being connected behind those soft blue eyes of his. “God help us,” he said.

  “It is him,” Thomas said. “Monique insisted. I want to speak to Deputy Gains immediately.”

  Jacques de Raison nodded. “Nancy, get the secretary on the phone.”

  Merton Gains sat alone at his desk and listened to Jacques de Raison for several minutes in a mild state of shock. Six hours ago, hearing Thomas Hunter lay out his test to prove himself, the idea had seemed fanciful. Now that he’d actually done it, Gains felt distinctly unnerved.

  He had heard Bob Macklroy explain that Hunter had predicted the Kentucky Derby’s outcome. He’d talked to Thomas and reported the possible problems with the Raison Vaccine in the cabinet meeting. He even agreed to test Hunter’s dreams. But his indulgences had all seemed quite harmless until now.

  Thomas Hunter had gone to sleep, learned Monique de Raison’s location, gone to that location, and brought back virtual proof that the virus was in fact in the works.

  “He would like to speak to you.”

  “Put him on,” Gains said. “Thomas? How are you?”

  “I’m not doing exceptionally well, sir. I hope you’re going to be reasonable now, as we agreed.”

  “Now hold on, son. You have to slow down on me.”

  “Why? Svensson’s obviously not slowing down.”

  He had a point. “Because, for starters, we don’t know there actually is a virus yet. Right? Not until they run the tests.”

  “Then the Raison Strain will come into existence in exactly two hours. I’m giving you a head start. You have to stop Svensson!”

  “We don’t even know where this Valborg Svensson is!”

  “Don’t tell me no one could find this guy. He’s not exactly unknown.”

  “We will find him. But we have no probable cause to—”

  “I gave you probable cause! Monique told me he was planning on using the virus; what more do yo
u need?”

  Two words pounded in Merton Gains’s mind. What if? What if, what if, what if? What if Hunter really was right and they were only days away from an unstoppable pandemic? Everyone knew that technology would eventually be used for something other than improving the human condition. The cool air spilling from the vent above his desk suddenly felt very cold. His door was closed, but he could hear the soft footfalls of someone passing by in the hall.

  America was purring down the proverbial highway like a well-oiled truck. Banks were trading billions in dollars; Wall Street was noisily swapping nearly as many stocks. The president was due to make a speech on his new tax plan in two hours. And Merton Gains, deputy secretary of state, had a phone to his ear, hearing someone five thousand miles away tell him that in three weeks four billion people would be dead.

  Surreal. Impossible.

  But what if?

  “First of all, I need you to slow down. I’m with you, okay? I said I would be with you, and I am. But you understand how the world runs. I need absolute proof if we expect anyone to listen. These are incredible claims we’re dealing with. Can you at least give me that?”

  “By the time I get you proof, it will be too late.”

  “I need you to work with me, at my pace. The first thing we need is the results of those tests.”

  “But you can at least find Svensson,” Thomas said. “Please tell me you can find this guy. The CIA or the FBI?”

  “Not in two hours, we can’t. I’ll get the ball rolling, but nothing happens that fast. If we have a B2 in the air circling Baghdad, we can drop a bomb in an hour, but we don’t have B2s in the air or even out of the hangar. We don’t even know where Baghdad is on this one; you got me?”

  Hunter sighed. “Then I’ll tell you what, Mr. Gains. We’re toast. You hear me? And Monique . . .” His voice trailed off.

  What if? What if?

  Gains stood and paced, phone held tightly to his ear. “I’m not saying we can’t do anything—”

  “Then do something!”

  “As soon as we hang up, I’ll be on the phone with the director of the CIA, Phil Grant. I’m sure they’re already all over this thing. For all we know, the Thai police already have whoever picked up the package in custody. At least the car. The kidnapping case is in full swing now, but the virus is a different matter altogether. So far, this looks like corporate espionage to everyone but you and maybe Raison.”

  “You don’t know how slow the wheels of justice turn in Southeast Asia. And it’s the virus that will bite us in the backside, not corporate espionage.”

  “I’ll make some calls. But I need proof!”

  “And in the meantime I twiddle my thumbs?”

  Gains thought about that. “Do what you’ve been doing. You’ve done some pretty amazing things in the last few days. Why stop now?”

  “You want me to go after Monique? Isn’t this just a bit over my head now?”

  “I think this is over everyone’s head. You’re the one with the dreams. So dream.”

  “Dream. Just like that? Dream.”

  “Dream.”

  The three segments—alive, dead, alive—still buzzed madly in Thomas’s brain. He couldn’t talk about them. They terrified him.

  “What did he say?” Kara asked.

  “He told me to wait.”

  “Just wait? Doesn’t he realize we don’t have time to wait?”

  “And he told me to dream.”

  Kara walked around the couch. “So he believes you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s at least beginning to believe that your dreams have some significance. And he’s right—you have to dream. Now.”

  “Just”—he snapped his fingers—“like that, huh?”

  “You want me to knock you out? The secretary is only half right. You don’t just have to dream, you have to do the right things in your dreams. Which means doing whatever it takes to get more information on the Raison Strain.”

  “The black forest,” he said.

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  Thomas now had two very compelling reasons to return to the black forest, one reason for each reality. The situation here had become critical— he had to accept more risk in uncovering the truth about the histories. And in the colored forest, if he recalled correctly, he was beginning to wonder if he really had crash-landed on a spacecraft.

  “Maybe I can talk to Rachelle again. Find out where she wants to be rescued from again. It worked once, right?”

  “It did. And what exactly does that mean? Is she somehow Monique? You’re talking to Monique in your dreams?”

  He sighed. “I don’t have a clue. Okay. Knock me out.”

  Kara dug in her pocket and handed him three tablets.

  29

  THOMAS SAT up. It was morning. He was in Rachelle’s house.

  For several long moments he sat there, frozen by a barrage of thoughts from his dream in Bangkok. The situation had gone critical—he had to uncover the truth about the Raison Strain.

  True enough, unless that was all a dream.

  But there was another reason, wasn’t there? He had to learn the truth about Teeleh’s claim that Bill and the spacecraft were real. He had to eliminate the confusing possibilities, or he would never settle into the truth.

  And yesterday Tanis had shown him how he might be able to mount his own little expedition into the black forest. The colored sword. It was poison to Teeleh.

  He jumped out of bed, splashed water on his face, and pulled on his clothes. After leaving Tanis and Johan yesterday, Thomas had intended to eat the nanka that Johan had brought him and fall asleep. But as it turned out, he didn’t need any help sleeping just yet. By the time he reached the village, it was almost time for the Gathering. He couldn’t miss the Gathering.

  Something strange had happened to him that evening while he was in the lake’s waters. A momentary shift in his perspective. He’d imagined being shot in the head, but the vision was fleeting.

  When he got back from the Gathering, they ate a feast of fruits as they had the first night. Johan sang and Rachelle danced along with Karyl and Palus told a magnificent tale.

  But what was Thomas’s gift?

  Dreaming stories, he told them. He didn’t dance like Rachelle or sing like young Johan or tell stories like Palus and Tanis, but he sure could dream stories.

  And so he did. He dreamed about Bangkok.

  “Good morning, sleepy dreamer.” Rachelle leaned against the door, backlit by the sun’s rays. “What did we do in your dreams? Hmm? Did we kiss?”

  Thomas stared at her, caught by her beauty. The sound of women giggling drifted in from outside.

  “Yes, my tulip, I believe I did dream about you.”

  She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Maybe this dreaming of yours has more possibilities than I first imagined.”

  In fact he had dreamed about Rachelle. Or at least he had dreamed of talking about his dream of Rachelle. Could he talk to her as if she were Monique?

  He crossed to her and leaned against the wall. “If you were held captive and would like me to rescue you, where would—”

  “We did this just yesterday,” she said. “Are you forgetting again? You still haven’t rescued me from the cave with the bottles.”

  “Well, no . . . you couldn’t be rescued.”

  “You never tried,” she said.

  He stared at her for a moment, lost. Clearly it wasn’t so simple.

  “I think I’ll go to the forest and think about how to do it,” he said.

  She stepped aside. “Be my guest.”

  The women he’d heard laughing were up the path when he stepped past her into the sunlight. They glanced back, whispering secrets.

  “Okay, I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t be long,” Rachelle said. “I want to hear what you’ve concocted. All of the delicious details.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  He made it out of t
he village after being stopped only twice. Thankfully not by Johan or Tanis. Even more thankfully not by Michal or Gabil. He didn’t need the distraction at the moment. Or any dissuasion. He had to keep his mind on this task of his, and if Rachelle wasn’t going to shed light on his dreams of Monique, he had to try the black forest before he lost his resolve.

  It took him an hour to find the exact clearing where he’d met Tanis yesterday. There, twenty feet to his left, lay the sword. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Tanis had returned for it himself. But he hadn’t.

  He picked up the sword and swung it through the air like a swashbuckler, thrusting and parrying into thin air filled with imaginary Shataiki. It felt uncommonly good. There wasn’t much of a handle, but the stick fit his grip perfectly. The blade was thin enough to see through and sharp enough to cut.

  He would at least test the Shataiki’s reaction to this new weapon of his. What did he have to lose? Surely the beasts would have sentries posted. Within minutes of his appearance at the Crossing, the place would be covered with the bats, and he would pull out the sword and see how they reacted. If the test went especially well, he would see where it might lead.

  Thomas glanced at the sun. It was midmorning. Plenty of time.

  He reached the white bridge in well under an hour at a steady run. A few days ago it would have taken him longer. He was as fit as he could ever recall.

  He stopped at the last line of trees and studied the Crossing. The arching bridge looked unchanged. The river still bubbled green beneath the plain white wood. The black trees on the opposite bank looked as stark as he remembered—like a papier-mâché forest created by a child, branches jutting off at ungainly angles.

  The unmistakable flutter of wings drifted across the river. Sentries. Thomas pulled back and dropped to one knee. For a moment the whole notion struck him as both ridiculous and absurdly dangerous. Who was he to think that he could fight off a thousand black Shataiki with a single sword?

  He lifted the weapon and ran his finger along its edge. But it wasn’t just any sword. If he was right, the wood alone would scatter the vermin. A surge of confidence rippled down his back.