“God is all-powerful,” Sarah averred gently. “And in wielding that power there are things He has chosen not to do. He does not lie. He does not go back on his word. He does not judge unjustly. He does not force His way. He does not control a person’s choices. But in already knowing what each choice is going to be, He does use that knowledge to orchestrate His Plan which, on a large scale, includes eradicating evil, pain, hurt, torment, sorrow, and even death from this planet. These tablets, this rising of an evil ‘chosen one’ exist because of choices that must be allowed to be carried out; and I believe your sandstorm cover was a sign to that effect.”
“So, what are we supposed to do with them, then?” asked Kate after a moment. “What’s the next move?”
Several pairs of inquiring eyes touched upon the answerless faces around the room, finally alighting upon the contemplative countenance of their team leader.
The commissioner answered their stares with a defeated sigh. “I don’t know, my friends. I’m not even sure what our options are. Perhaps, we should take the day to think about it. Let’s meet in my office after the museum closes for the night and we’ll talk more about it all then.”
The group agreed and somberly left the lab, each privately fathoming how the heavy whump of the door closing behind them seemed to echo through the empty hallway like a harbinger of ominous finality.
Chapter 81
James stared at the reflection of his sallow face in the glass of the car window and barely recognized it. His eyes, once bright and confident, had lost their luster. His strong jaw line and defined cheek bones had abandoned their nobler definitions and now jutted awkwardly out against the thin skin pressed against them. The reflection itself alarmed him a little, but that it also reflected the shadow of his inner man alarmed him more. Adjusting his focus away, he looked out instead of within; but the scenes he met of the passing cityscape were no better. Along the pavements adorning the magnificent architectural treasures of Brussels, mobs were forming, staining the beauty of the buildings with dark ambiances of tension and anger. On the next block, an elegant white shop wall had been grafittied over with large black zig-zag letters that he couldn’t read, and several police cars were parked outside of a bank, the officers putting up a barrier to keep people back. With irony, he remembered his first ride through Brussels and the protestors he had seen in front of GED Headquarters. He had been so keen on finding out their cause, then; and now, like the assistant who had escorted him—whatever her name was—as he looked at the forming crowds he had no idea anymore why they were forming. What were they upset about now? Something that GED was doing?
“Join the club,” he mumbled to himself.
“What’s that?” In the seat beside him Cyndi made a show of re-crossing her legs so her right shoe heel was brushing against the hem of his slacks. The move, he ascertained, was a power play - a reminder that she had corporate and, James had realized, still personal authority over his actions even though he had been working to keep her at bay. It unnerved him and he felt his jaw clench.
“The buildings here are so beautiful, aren’t they?” She was angling for something, but James didn’t want to play.
“I should hope so,” he replied bitterly. “I've seen the violence in the Congo that paved these streets with gold.”
Cyndi pouted her lips at him sardonically. “Oh, you must be forgetting that you are one of those profiting from the disruption in the Congo, or didn’t you get your last check?” She laughed out loud - an annoying burst of mockery. “You remind me of those silly little people who put petrol in their cars so they can drive to an oil pipeline protest.”
James didn’t respond. She powdered her nose. It irritated him.
“Would you tell me again exactly why you are coming to this routine political meeting with me today? I haven’t needed a babysitter for a while now. Doesn’t the head of GED operations have anything better to do?”
Cyndi’s rouge case snapped shut sharply, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Since last Sunday, James’ attitude toward her had been thrown on ice. He was cheeky, pushy, and downright rude. Though she was searching for something or someone to blame for bringing about this sudden, dangerous change, she was still responsible for James’ actions; and she was getting more and more worried about what she saw. She had suspected that, maybe, he was trying to get fired, but there was no way Maximos was going to let him go. He knew too much, had seen too much, and, most importantly, was still proving useful to the cause. Unwilling to admit to Maximos that she had failed as James’ handler, Cyndi had strived to keep up appearances and, therefore, tolerated his private insolence toward her, only allowing herself small biting ricochets in return to try and keep him in check.
“Even you can't expect to know everything that's going on,” she replied almost snobbishly. “And I won’t pretend that your recent demeanor doesn’t play at the shadows of potential sabotage. I’m along to look out for my interests because I’m not sure I can trust you with them anymore. Do you deny it?”
James kept his gaze out of the window. A group of people walking in a circle bouncing picket signs into the air whizzed past.
“I do believe,” she continued in a false airy tone, “that your friend, Dr. Kakoaba, will be present today. I hope you’ll be able to remember your manners around him and avoid any private discussions that might convince one to think ill of your employer. Gossip can be such a tricky flame to snuff out; and can be especially bothersome when we’ve got the International Summit right around the corner. Wouldn’t want any whispers to ruin that opportunity for GED, would we? Then, again,” she pulled some lipstick from her bag and made an invisible amendment to her already perfectly drawn red lips. “Now that I think about it, our Dr. Kakoaba’s loyalty is already well in hand. Perhaps I should speak to him about bringing you back round.”
“What do you mean?” James didn’t look at her, but his words held a sharper edge than before.
“Only that you seem to have forgotten that GED—”
“No, I mean about Dr. Kakoaba’s loyalty. He’s a smart man…” Smart enough to realize what GED is really doing to our country; smart enough to see it before I did, no doubt.
“Oh, he’s very smart,” chimed Cyndi. “Smart enough to remember to keep his cooperation with us flawless.”
It might have been a word, her tone, or just the addition of another straw of frustration to the pile on his proverbial camel’s back, but something in James suddenly snapped.
“Driver, stop the car. Now!”
The brakes screeched and Cyndi was violently lurched forward; she hadn’t done up her seatbelt. James quickly ripped off his and shot out of the car.
“James!” He could hear the irate voice follow him out. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
“I’m sick of being driven around. I haven’t been behind the wheel in months.”
Throwing open the driver’s door, James firmly grasped the front of the shocked man’s shirt and hauled him out. “You just got the day off, buster.” Loosing the driver a foot away from the car, James jumped into his seat, slammed the door, and hit the accelerator, throwing Cyndi against the back of her seat.
“James, stop it this instant!”
“It’s all coming back to me, Cyndi. Which one is the brake again?” He took a fast corner and the engine snarled as he cut into the oncoming lane, then, tightly swerved back before crashing headlong into a bus.
Cyndi’s face went from red anger to fearful white. Could he really be trying to kill them? Slipping her hand into her purse, she pressed a button on her phone to send an emergency signal to GED special security. At the same time, she tried to talk him down as rationally as she could manage amid the jerky sways of the vehicle and near misses of death.
“Look, you’re stressed out. I get it. But there are better ways to handle that than testing the speed limit!”
“Oh, no. I’m pretty sure I’m breaking it.” He grinned impishly at her white face in the mirror.<
br />
“Stop the car now, James!”
“Not until you start giving me some real answers. Start with the leverage you have over Dr. Kakoaba.”
“Really, I never…” She fumbled with her words and the seatbelt at the same time.
“I wouldn't buckle that if I were you. Makes it harder for them to de-tangle you in a crash.”
James saw her whip it back toward the door and reveled in her exasperation.
“Then, again, you don't want to go flying through the windshield when we crash.”
She shot him a venomous look and clenched her teeth as she reached for the strap again and fought to steady her shaking hands which wouldn’t let her click it.
“Oh James, please, slow down.” There was pleading in her voice now, in harmony with the wail of distant sirens.
“Tell me what’s going on!”
“Just stop the car and I will.”
“Tell me!” He gunned it into the other lane and swerved around and oncoming car.
Cyndi shrieked.
“Alright! The microbits we injected into Kakoaba’s people—It’s the cure!”
“Cure” - “The same one I have, that prevents diseases?”
“No, theirs was a test batch,”
“A test for what?”
“Rigula, of course, you idiot!”
“The cure for the Rigula virus?”
“For more control about what’s going on in their bodies - matters of life…and death.”
James digested her words for a split second before his eyes grew wide in disbelief and horror. “Oh my god. He’s had it all along, hasn’t he? Macnamos found the cure and…No…No, he didn’t find it, did he Cyndi?” James’ eyes burned with fury, his voice rising to a hysterical pitch as his mind worked faster to put together what he felt should have been obvious to him all along. “He had them engineered together, didn’t he! The virus and the cure. Now he’s holding the world ransom and…“What! blackmailing Dr. Kakoaba with lives! Blackmailing everyone with lives! If nation heads don’t do what he wants, he’ll deny them the cure…is that how it works, Cyndi?!”
“Oh don’t act so high and mighty!” Cyndi couldn’t help herself from shouting back. “You’re no stranger to putting the squeeze on officials! You are just as guilty as the rest of us. It's exactly what you outlined in your population control paper.”
“I never wrote a pop—”
“Stop kidding yourself, James, James…James!!”
Cyndi covered her face with her hands, just as James realized he was careening straight toward their hotel destination. He stomped the brakes and spun the wheel. Screeching in protest, the car drifted sloppily and jolted over the curb onto the pavement.
“Where are you going!”
James had jumped out of the car and barged into the hotel, knocking aside a porter in his haste.
“Please, ring Dr. Kakoaba’s room and tell him his appointment is in the lobby now.” The young woman at the front desk, though disconcerted by James’ rushed demand, retained as much tact as she could.
“I’m sorry, sir. It shows that Dr. Kakoaba checked out. Are you James Mode? He left a message for you.” She handed him a small envelope. James stepped aside and ripped it open. Inside was a note card written upon with small, neat script.
Appointment canceled.
Returning to Africa.
K.
Clutching the note, James strode back across the smooth lobby floor to Cyndi, who had just come in the door. In his eagerness to demand an explanation from her, he didn’t notice the two men in black suits that entered behind her until they had looped around and come up on either side of him.
“I’m sorry, James,” Cyndi said, not sounding sorry at all. “I tried to give you one last chance, but you left me no choice.”
Chapter 82
It was nearing sunset when the last patron was ushered out, and the front doors of the British Museum were ceremoniously locked behind them. Shop lights in the great court were dimmed and the security guards stretched and walked back and forth across the foyer to get the blood flowing again as they waited for their night shift replacements. Those patrolling through the exhibitions kept an eye out for any wayward guests who had been missed in the first sweep; but not expecting to actually find any, their search was less than vigilant and passed completely over a hulking figure precariously smashing himself into a tight, shadowed corner between a pillar and large display case holding carven Egyptian images.
As the soft footsteps passed, the man risked pulling out his map to double check where he was going. He had to get downstairs to the labs—that is where she worked. Quietly, he snuck his way to a back wall where a service staircase was marked on the map. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Carefully, he opened the metal door, went through, and closed it gently. He made his way down the stairs, often pausing to listen for movements other than his own. Suddenly, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and voices echoed down the well accompanied by a thunking decent on the metal steps. The man whisked down the rest of the way and came to a long, lit hallway. There were no hiding places. He’d have to run. With a burst of speed, he rushed across, turned the corner into another corridor and pressed himself against the wall. Straining to hear over his rapid breathing, the man listened for sounds of discovery and heard none. Checking his map, he pinpointed himself in a hallway of offices; the labs were still a distance. He had just turned a corner into another line of offices when a name on one of the wooden doors jumped out at him: Sarah A. Mode. A sliver of light shone onto the floor from the crack under the door, and the man froze as a shadow momentarily interrupted the stream. She was in there. This was going to be easier than he’d thought.
He placed his hand gingerly on the knob when, all of a sudden, shouts rang out from the end of the hall.
“Hey! You!” Taken by surprise, the man panicked and could only watch as an athletic-looking pair, a man and woman, raced down the hall toward him. They looked oddly familiar. At that moment, the door in front of him opened and Sarah gasped in surprise. “You!”
Chapter 83
“What’s going on? Who’s that?” Commissioner Moreau leapt from the desk chair as John, Kate and Sarah entered his office with a rather unkempt stranger in tow.
“This is Frank,” Sarah answered. “He’s a journalist; I’ve met him before. He knows things about GED and, Pierre, listen to this: he says John and Kate’s names are mentioned in his folders!”
“Wait a minute. Back up—”
“Frank talked to me before,” rushed Sarah. “He said my husband was in danger from his employer, GED. He said he had proof and I told him he could meet me here sometime to show it.”
Pierre huffed at the idea of his esteemed establishment being peddled out as a den for exchanging conspiratorial secrets and set a glare upon the intruder.
“I was looking for Mrs. Mode when John and Kate saw me in the hallway,” Frank attempted to explain.
“We thought he was trying to break in or something,” said John.
“No doubt he was breaking in,” Pierre declared harshly, feeling affronted by the scruffy stubble and creased clothing of the pudgy stranger. “I should call security.”
“Just a minute.” Frank held up his hand. “Look, I was a reporter for Abby’s Post.” He reached into his crinkled jacket and pulled out a folder from what looked like a large makeshift pocket in the lining. “A man named Roland Ashante gave me this. He was a senior executive at GED—”
“In the position that my husband holds now,” interjected Sarah, “because this Roland went ‘missing.’” She emphasized the quotes with her fingers.
“Well I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable—”
“If you search for that man today,” cut in Frank, “you will find no trace of him. Anywhere. We were meant to meet a week after he gave me this folder; but he never showed. I believe he was killed. Since then, I've been chased, had to leave my job, my home. I’ve been moving in and out of s
helters, afraid for my life.”
“I’m sorry, of course. But I don’t understand how this is relevant to museum affairs.”
“I know all about the tablets, if that’s what you mean,” Frank blurted. “I just didn’t know they were here.”
“But, how could you…?”
“Before he defected, Roland snagged lots of documents concerning what GED was up to behind the scenes. Look.” He opened the file, pulled a few sheets of paper off the top, and handed them to Pierre. It took 15 seconds for his face to change from scrutiny to horror. He passed the papers to Kate.
“My blog entries!” she exclaimed.
“I thought you deleted those after those thugs chased us in the desert,” said John, as he peered at the documents. On the second page were two enlarged images of their passport photos with Kate’s initial photos of the tablets underneath; the third held a rough map of the general area where they had been digging.
“Don’t you see?” asked Frank. “This is the reason those thugs did chase you. GED sent them after you. Someone in GED wants those tablets!”
PUMPH!
The room was instantly plunged into darkness.
“What happened?” John was the first to pull out his phone and shine it on each shocked face. “Pierre?”
“Power’s out. I’ll call security and see what’s going on.” He woke his cell phone and set it on the desk for a light, as he picked up the receiver and dialed the extension. He pressed the cradle switch a few times. “Phone’s dead,” he stated anxiously. “I can’t get a dial tone.”
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