The Babel Tower

by J. B. Simmons

  “I’ll take you,” Rachel said. “You’re in pretty rough shape.”

  “Thank you.”

  The two of them made their way to the elevator, with Rachel warding off questions from those they passed. Not many people were around.

  “Where is everyone?” Liz asked as they rode down the tower.

  “A lot happened while you were out.” Rachel told her about Dylan and Katarina’s arrest, and about how they’d plotted to take over Babel.

  Liz’s trap had worked. “Is Dylan in jail?”

  “Yeah, conspiracy charges.”

  “And Katarina?”

  “She’ll be locked up for a long time. The FBI wants to talk to you. Not to mention the press.”

  Liz smiled. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  They found Liz’s car in the tower’s underground garage and Rachel drove out to the farm, filling in Liz on more of the details. The tornado had taken the lives of fourteen workers, and injured hundreds. Crews were working non-stop to clean up the damage. Support had been streaming in from around the world—the tower had been getting more attention than ever, and many were worried about how the great Elizabeth Trammell was doing.

  Liz stared out the window as she listened, awestruck. The soft morning light cast a dreamy haze over cornfields with gaping holes ripped through them. Wood and debris covered everything. A few cars sat on their backs, tires facing the blue sky, like overturned beetles. It looked like a war zone.

  By the time Rachel turned down the road to the Conrad farmhouse, Liz was having trouble breathing. The emptiness pressed into her chest. There was no farmhouse, no barn, no silo. The fields of crops were torn up like some giant had grabbed fistfuls of the earth and flung them away.

  But as they approached the place where the farmhouse had been, a smile spread across Liz’s face and she began to laugh softly with joy and disbelief.

  Jake was back at work. He was hauling a load of wood on his shoulder. He laid the planks on a waist-high stack—the remnants of his world. He turned to the car as Rachel stopped.

  Rachel came around and helped Liz out. Liz limped heavily, but declined Rachel’s offer of support. She wanted to face Jake on her own two feet.

  “Hey Jake,” Rachel said, embracing him. “You look tired. You’ve got to rest sometime. How’s Annie?”

  “About the same.” He met Liz’s eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “You’re hurt, too.”

  “I was on the top of the tower when the storm hit,” Liz said. “It’s a miracle I survived.”

  “A miracle, or a gift?” he asked.

  Liz felt the same bareness under his stare. “Both, I guess. It made me realize how small I am, how weak, even on top of the tower.”

  It was hard to see through his beard, but Liz thought she saw the corners of his lips turn up.

  “God is infinite,” he said. “Anyone who gets that understands how small we are.”

  Liz nodded, but wasn’t sure how to respond. She glanced past him to the hole in the ground—the hole where the house had stood just days before. “What happened to Annie?”

  Jake looked down. “I couldn’t protect her… She’s been in and out of consciousness.”

  “How did any of you survive?”

  “We had a bunker under the house,” Jake said. “It held pretty well, but the top ripped off just as the tornado passed. Debris flew in, hit Annie hard in the head. And Pops was outside…he still hasn’t explained how he did it, but somehow the old soldier survived with only a gash on his shoulder, about like yours.”

  Liz thought of the girl smiling down at the hurt bird, and of the old man handing her the package with Daddy’s book. It wasn’t fair. The Conrad farm had turned into a wasteland overnight, while her tower had only a few broken windows. For some reason she felt guilty.

  “It’s not my fault,” she said quietly.

  Jake and Rachel both stared at her. “Of course not,” Rachel said.

  “But what if…?”

  Jake shook his head. “No one can blame you.”

  Liz kept her eyes on Rachel. “I built the tower in spite of your warnings. You told me it was like the Tower of Babel, that it was pride to do it. I built it like a middle finger to God. Maybe he gave me this storm as answer. The storm that almost killed Annie and Pops, and that destroyed your home. Meanwhile, I got only scrapes and bruises. Is that justice? Is that God’s idea of making things right?”

  They were quiet a few moments, then Jake answered in a low and steady voice, “Job’s friends told him to think the same thing. But God said: Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand.”

  Liz stared at him, the hair of her arms on end. She felt energy flowing from his words, something that shook her, like what she’d heard on top of the tower.

  Jake looked to Rachel, and Liz sensed that something passed between them.

  “What does that mean?” Liz asked.

  “Who are we to question God?” Rachel said.

  “Only he knows the fullness of time. Even this—” Jake nodded to the destruction behind him—“can be worked for good.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Liz remembered the beautiful and peaceful white farmhouse with the green tin roof. “How can this be good?”

  “It’s not good, but it can bring good. Sometimes we need changes to help us see the truth.” Jake’s gaze was fixed on Liz, as if expecting something from her.

  She opened her mouth to object, but hesitated. She remembered her dream about Jake and Jax fighting, and she thought maybe it represented some battle between her own desires. Was she going to follow her old world-savior mold that she’d shared with Jax, or the new mold of Jake, of simplicity and humility? She’d wanted Jake to win in the dream, and he had.

  “It can bring good,” Liz agreed. “I see that now.”

  His expression softened. “You’ve changed.”

  Liz didn’t know how to explain it, but he was right. “Maybe we could help you rebuild. Would that be okay?”

  Jake glanced down at the bandage wrapped around her leg. “You sure?”

  Liz smiled. “You may have noticed we have a few workers around, even some construction materials.”

  “We don’t need—”

  “Jake,” Rachel interrupted. “You do need help.”

  He studied her, then nodded. “Okay.”

  “But first,” Rachel said, turning to Liz. “We have to get you back for some rest. There’s medical staff waiting for you in the tower. And Babel needs you.”

  Liz kept her eyes on Jake. “I will come back soon.”

  He smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

  61

  Jax leaned back in the leather chair, feet propped on the desk. He’d backed off the ledge and slept. He felt a little steadier, and now he was reading the news about the mother-of-all tornadoes and the survival of the tower. Babel stock had fallen hard with the revelation of Katarina’s corporate espionage, but analysts predicted a rebound. The company still had the best translation software the world had ever seen. Jax couldn’t help but grin about that.

  He didn’t budge when Liz entered the office. She looked different, and wasn’t just the limp and her arm in a sling. She seemed more grounded.

  She sat in the chair opposite his desk. They smiled at each other, both quiet for a moment, in the familiar way of old friends. She now knew everything that he’d hidden about Hunter Black. She also knew he’d been trying to protect her.

  Liz broke the silence. “You look good there.”

  The grin froze on his face. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “That was the plan all along,” she said. “Now that Katarina’s gone, Babel needs a new CEO…only one person comes to mind.”

  “The deal hasn’t changed. I’m the coder, the brains. You’re the face.”

  “I was the face. It wasn’t all it cracked up to be.”

  “What about the tower?”

  Liz glanced to the windows and the sweep
ing view beyond. “It survived the best God could throw at it.”

  “You sound like the farmer.” Jax didn’t try to hide the contempt in his voice.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Liz looked down at her hands in her lap. “Some of our workers are helping him rebuild his farmhouse. With our resources it’ll be done in a couple weeks.”

  “Just being a good neighbor?” Jax asked.

  “Yes, but…it’s more than that.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  “Don’t be.”

  “I’ll always love you, Jax. You know that.”

  Her words sank into him. Maybe he’d known she loved him, in a way, but he’d never heard it before. Hearing it was different—the words dancing through his mind and lifting an invisible burden that had weighed on him for years.

  “We make a good team,” he said, his voice tight.

  “The best.” Liz paused, smiling. “That’s why I want you to lead Babel. I’m sure the board will be delighted.”

  Jax stepped to the window. Years before, he had programed the code to require Liz’s DNA. He could have used any source with a unique configuration. But he’d chosen her. Something about the translation existed only in connection with Liz. She had been the bridge for him. She had been the translation of the future into the present. Now that bridge was gone, and for the first time, he felt like he could survive without it.

  I’ll always love you, she’d said.

  But what to do with the code, and the company? He was okay with it all ending. He didn’t need the money. He’d never been like Dylan, wanting to create utopia in the world. If Liz didn’t want Babel, why should he? And yet, looking out over the earth below, he realized he did want to keep this tower, this vantage. Maybe Liz had given birth to it, but he could adopt it. He thought of the scientists competing to conquer death. He thought of his own ideas, his unformed inventions—a space tether to the tower’s top, or travel to Mars. He thought of his team of engineers. He thought of Veruca, with her fire-red hair.

  He turned back to Liz. “Okay, I’ll do it, at least for a little while.”

  “Thank you, Jax.” She stood, facing him. “I have just one request.”

  “It better not have anything to do with the farmer.”

  She laughed. “No, it’s about the data.”

  “What about it?”

  “We’re going to destroy the servers and eliminate all data collection.”

  Jax winced, like he’d taken a punch to the gut. “But the algorithm needs…”

  Liz held up her hand. “I know, it needs the data to keep improving. But Babel is good enough. The data is too powerful.” She paused. “You know the Lord of the Rings?”

  “Seriously? I thought we were friends.”

  Liz smiled. “The data is like the one ring. The evil ones will never stop pursuing it. Can you imagine what Katarina would have done with the data? If we hadn’t prevented the transfer just before she accessed the system, many secret words would have been uncovered. Privacy is a basis for trust, for love—and it should be protected. We have to destroy the data.”

  “I do like secrets, but…you think the board and the shareholders will go along with this?”

  “I’m not asking for permission. We’re going to do it now, and I need your help.”

  Jax considered arguing against it, but she had a point. As long as the code still translated languages, the company would be fine for a long time. His algorithm had already learned enough from people’s conversations. It would be safer to stop storing the data. It would be better to focus on the next frontiers.

  He agreed to help her.

  The two of them made the long descent into the bowels of the tower. There they had their final rendezvous. Jax holding her arm, taking the hair. Liz leaning close, her presence warming him. But this time it wasn’t unmet passionate love that linked them, it was the comfort of old friends. Deep and settled and capable of great things.

  With a few minutes of coding, and with Liz’s life code, Jax unraveled the whole data storage system. He destroyed the one ring.

  62

  Katarina tried to ignore the whispering. The low, constant sound repeated in the same rhythm, each word like a drip from a faucet. She’d be a moment from sleep when the sound would come again.

  Help me, Jesus…help me, Jesus…help…

  Finally Katarina sat up. “He’s not helping.”

  The woman in the other bed turned to her with a smile.

  “What are you grinning about?” Katarina asked. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “He is helping,” she said, before she started again with her stupid praying whisper chant.

  Katarina could have dealt with a murderer, another spy, or at least someone with an evil intention. But no, they’d given her Samantha as a cellmate. A Catholic girl turned bank robber turned wannabe nun. Katarina hated her.

  Katarina hated everything about this place. Her convictions were of the white-collar variety, landing her with a twenty-year sentence in a low-security prison. It was unbecoming of a spy of her caliber. These petty little charges were beneath her dignity. But at least the place was sterile and routine. She could use the time to read, to get healthy, and to plan. Her revenge list was long.

  She eventually managed to fall asleep. The mattress served well enough. One could get used to a lot after a few weeks.

  The next morning brought a surprise. The guard came after breakfast, and after another thousand help me Jesus prayers from her cellmate, to tell her there was a visitor.

  Finally. They’ve come to get me out.

  She walked as tall and proud as she could in her orange jumpsuit. A guard opened the door to a small visitation room with a plain table and two chairs.

  It wasn’t a Russian waiting for her. It was someone she never would have expected: Hunter Black.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Nice to see you too.” He was not smiling.

  “Did Liz send you?”

  He motioned to the chair beside Katarina. “Why don’t you have a seat? Would you like coffee?”

  “No.” She did want coffee, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of providing it. She remained standing.

  Hunter looked to the guard behind Katarina. “You can go now. I’ll knock when we’re ready.”

  “Warden said you get as long as you want. I’ll be here.” The guard closed the door, leaving them alone.

  Katarina began to worry a little. It was unusual for a guard to leave a prisoner alone, and Hunter seemed awfully comfortable in a jail cell. She stayed composed and sat down slowly. “Where’s my attorney?” she asked.

  “Not invited.” Hunter sat across from her.

  “What’s this about?”

  Hunter folded his hands on the table. The smile on his face showed confidence. “Yoga on Friday mornings,” he said. “You were a regular.”

  Katarina forced herself to stay calm. That was her only routine contact with her Russian counterparts. “Yeah, so?”

  “Another man was a regular there, too. Your friend?”

  “I have several friends from yoga. Acquaintances, really.”

  “I’d like to know his name.”

  “Charlie Timball. Is that who you have in mind?”

  The smile slid away from Hunter’s lips. “His real name.”

  “I don’t follow,” Katarina said. “His name is Charlie. Charles, I guess.”

  “Okay, let’s call him Charlie then, if that makes you feel better.” Hunter leaned back, crossed his hands behind his head. “He’s an interesting guy. A low-level software engineer, right?”

  “I think so,” Katarina said. “I didn’t know him all that well.”

  The smile returned to Hunter’s face. “Charlie earns about $100k per year. But a few months ago, he transferred $10 million to an account in Russia. Interesting, right?”

  Katarina’s mind raced through the possibilities. Could
she be sure that Hunter was a U.S. agent? Could this be a test of loyalty sent by her colleagues? “I don’t know anything about that,” she said.

  “You talked to him every Friday, with your Babel off.”

  “We talked about yoga, the weather, stuff like that.”

  “What’s odd is that the $10 million transfer happened on a Friday after he talked with you, and a couple days later someone shot Owen Strand in a field in Nebraska.”

  “We were all crushed when we lost Owen.”

  “I’m sure you were.” Hunter leaned forward again. “But it did make things easier for you, for your plans. And then when you were in the data room under the tower, you tried to make a transfer.”

  “I’m not talking about that without my lawyer.”

  “Good thing Dylan and I stopped you, because guess who had an IP address connected to your attempt? None other than Charlie Timball. What’s his real name, Katarina?”

  Katarina put her hands in her lap, to hide the shaking. She was furious, devastated. All the work, a twenty-year sentence, and the data hadn’t budged. She studied Hunter’s composed gaze. “Who are you?”

  “I’m your ticket out of here, Ms. Ivanovich.”

  Katarina’s heart was racing. No one in America should know that name. No one except her agency, and even there it was only a handful. She’d left it behind so long ago.

  “Who are you working for?” she asked, failing to keep her voice calm.

  Hunter sipped coffee from his styrofoam cup. “Your colleagues have five of my friends. I want them back, but I also want to find your friend Charlie.”

  CIA, Katarina thought. He has to be CIA. Five of their agents had been locked away in Moscow for over a year. The implications flooded over her. Hunter Black, the man who had managed the tower construction, who had access to every worker’s feed and the cameras everywhere. He knew too much, but he still needed Charlie’s name. “How can you get me out?”

  “Your charges are pretty routine. Corporate theft, conspiracy.” He paused. “We let Dylan off without charges because he talked to us.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Everything I needed to know. He’s back in San Francisco. They even let him have his teaching job back.” Hunter paused. “You could be back in Moscow this week. But I need a name.”