by Jacob Whaler
“And give Shinto the credit.” Diego puts his hands together.
“Shinto and MX Global.” Ryzaard walks around the table again with hands behind his back. “Together, they become world peacemakers. Saviors of mankind. Everyone will want a shrine in their backyard. Even the Europeans. Brilliant.”
“And hugely profitable.” Elsa puts her fingertips together. “Especially if we know in advance when and where the damage will occur.”
Another wave of silence washes over them as they look into each other’s eyes and try to comprehend the magnitude of what lies before them.
Ryzaard finally breaks the silence. “I want all of you on this project. Jing-wei and Kalani will continue to take the lead but we need all of your best thinking. Drop whatever new projects you may have and work on this full time.”
Jing-wei looks up, eyebrows drooping. “Millions will die.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Innocent people. Fathers. Mothers. Children.”
“And billions will live to see a new age.” Ryzaard lowers his eyes to meet Jing-wei’s. “All of you will have to be brave.”
“When are you going to knock over the first domino?”
All eyes turn to the source of the voice, standing at the open door of the lab.
Alexa.
“In a few days, my dear.” Ryzaard turns and shows his face to her. “As soon as all the details are worked out.”
She says nothing and walks out of the room, her crisp footsteps echoing down the hall.
CHAPTER 96
“Wait,” Jessica says. “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?”
Eva stops and stares up at the stars. “They never lie. I’m sure the ocean is this way.”
Jessica glances behind them. The raging fire in the forest is a patch of orange ten kilometers away, now much smaller than it had been an hour ago.
“The fire’s just about burned itself out.” Jessica strains her eyes and sees dots of light moving back and forth in the sky above it. “Looks like the soldiers have moved in. I hope Michiko’s OK.”
Eva pulls Jessica away. “They weren’t after her. It’s you they want.”
“I hope you’re right.” A breeze blows the pungent aroma of the ocean into Jessica’s face. She inhales. “Smells like we’re getting close. Can you run the sub by yourself?”
“Not by myself. It takes at least two people. I’ll show you how.”
“What about fuel?” Jessica puts her hand on Eva’s shoulder. “The captain said we were just about out.”
Eva gently touches Jessica’s cheek. “So many questions. So many worries. The sub’s got solar units on top. If we have to, we can deploy them and run on the surface until we get more fuel.”
A low hill of green grass rises in front of them. As they scramble up its side and make the crest, the ocean bursts into view in the early dawn, running away from the rocky beach far to the right and left.
They drop to the water.
“Should be right here.” Eva takes a rectangular piece of metal out of her pocket. A green ribbon of light runs up its side. “Everything looks good.” She slides her thumb along it.
Twenty meters out in the water, bubbles suddenly erupt on the surface. A few seconds later, the shiny metallic top of the submarine breaks through and rises up until its entire length is visible. Ripples spread out in ever-expanding circles.
The hatch on top pops open.
“Let’s go.” Eva steps into the water.
Five meters from the sub, Jessica thinks she hears the sound of men’s voices on the other side of the hill. Stricken with sudden horror, her pulse beats out of control.
“Come on, we’re almost there.” Eva wades into the water.
They both swim until their fingers touch the cold metal skin.
“You’re first,” Eva says.
Jessica bursts out of the water, stepping onto the rungs of the ladder and pulling herself up. When she gets to the top, sparks fly to the side as something hard strikes the metal. Twisting, she drops the backpack through the open hatch and pulls the pulse rifle off her back. By the time she swings to face the beach, the barrel is in her hands, and she is looking through the sights.
Three soldiers clamber down the hill, yelling at each other in Japanese, rifles in hand.
Jessica drops into a crouch and starts firing. “Get in!” She yells to Eva.
One of the soldiers falls to the ground and doesn’t move.
Two more to go.
“Not until you do!” Eva stands on top and yells back.
Bullets riddle the side of the submarine at their feet, sending up a cloud of sparks.
“I’ve got the rifle. Move!” Jessica jumps in front of Eva and pushes her toward the hatch with one hand. Dropping into position again, she rests the rifle on her knee and taps the trigger.
Another soldier falls.
Only one left.
A sudden pain stabs her left ankle, ripping up the side of her leg. As it goes limp, she teeters forward, over the edge.
Strong hands grab her shoulders and pull her back to the hatch, forcing her in head first. As her body slides through, the pulse rifle comes off. She slips to the bottom, breaking her fall on the way by grabbing the rungs of the ladder. When she hits the floor, another wave of pain shoots up her leg.
Above her, Eva stands, straddled over the opening, firing a nonstop barrage from the rifle.
The pings of metal striking against the side of the submarine go silent.
Eva scrambles down the ladder and closes the hatch. “Got the last one.” Moving quickly to Jessica’s side, Eva rips open Jessica’s pants from ankle to knee. “Looks like they scored a couple of hits. You’re lucky it missed the bone. You should have jumped in when I told you to. Let’s get you to the mess and cleaned up.”
As Eva leans forward, a sudden burst of gun fire lights up the dark corridor behind her. Jerking and twitching, she slumps to the floor beside Jessica.
Blood runs from the corners of Eva’s mouth.
Seconds later, Jessica hears the crisp clink of metal boots. Two men stand over her and pull off Eva’s body, throwing it to the side. Their barrels point down, a couple feet from Jessica’s eyes. Fingers rest gingerly on triggers.
One of the soldiers smiles at her. “Welcome back, Ms. Jessica Gibson.”
A logo is embroidered on their chests, a white dragon and a black dragon in a yin-yang position devouring each other’s tails. Words in neon red wrap it.
MX Global Corporation: Paradise Now.
CHAPTER 97
Time is running out.
Miyazawa reaches for a cup of tea and looks at the bluescreen of the slate in his hands. Judging from the numbers, things are starting to wind down in Southeast Asia. In fact, the entire operation will be done in less than a week.
With sprawling factories that now employ a sizeable chunk of the Japanese population, and with tens of thousands of new Shinto priests being turned out each day, it’s time for Ryzaard to make good on his promise that Europe and the rest of the world will open its doors to Shinto.
That’s how it has always worked in the past. Miyazawa waits until world leaders contact him with an invitation to bring Shinto to their country. He takes the request under consideration, and then magnanimously responds, bringing the peace and understanding that only he can provide. Wherever he goes, he is met with open arms.
For months, it’s been easy and effortless. But without new lands to spread over and assimilate, the juggernaut of Shinto will soon grind to a halt.
Miyazawa takes another sip of tea to calm his panic.
It doesn’t work.
He can see it now. Soon the entire Shinto organization will be exposed for the deceit that it is. The work will stop. Funding will be withdrawn, throwing thousands of Japanese out of work. Visionary and idealist will be replaced with deceiver and charlatan. They will say he cannibalized populations that were already Buddhist, predisposed to the ways of Shinto. They will say he merely took wha
t was dropped into his lap.
He will be a laughingstock. The end of the spread of Shinto.
Miyazawa stares out the window at the lone cherry tree in the courtyard. All of its magnificent white blossoms lie strewn on the ground, shriveled and turning to dust.
On the table next to the teapot, his jax flashes green. He picks it up, staring at the screen that pops in the air above it.
It’s from Dr. Ryzaard.
For an eternity of seconds, he looks at the name, afraid to answer, afraid to hear the old man say the words that plague his dreams.
The game is over.
Finally, involuntarily, his finger brushes the side of the jax. The image of a man appears before him.
“Hello, Miyazawa-san.” The man speaks with great enthusiasm. “I apologize for calling you like this. I would have come in person if I could. But the press of business has kept me too occupied for the last few weeks.”
Miyazawa leans forward in a deep bow. “Dr. Ryzaard?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
“But you look so—”
“Different? Younger?” Ryzaard smiles. “I was recently involved in an accident and sustained nasty burns to my face. Thank goodness for plastic surgery. I hadn’t realized what great strides the science had made in the past few years. I would say they did a great job, wouldn’t you?”
Miyazawa remains silent, staring through squinted eyes, not quite believing.
“Enough of my ramblings.” Ryzaard sits in his chair, revealing the skyline of New York City behind him. “I have an important matter to discuss with you.”
Images pass through Miyazawa’s mind. Masses of people laughing at him, pointing fingers of scorn.
“About Europe?” Miyazawa says.
“Yes. Europe and the rest of the world.”
Reaching for a cup of tea with a trembling hand, Miyazawa nods.
“I’ve been tracking your progress and must say how impressed I am with what you’re doing. Nothing short of miraculous.” Ryzaard lifts a small statue off his desk and leans back in his chair, bringing it close to his chest.
Hastily draining the cup, Miyazawa clears his throat. “We owe it all to your kind patronage.”
“On the contrary, I think there’s a real hunger in the world for the message of peace you offer.” Ryzaard is momentarily distracted as his eyes jump to the right.
Someone must have just walked into his office.
“Anyway,” Ryzaard says. “There will be a continuing need, or rather, an increasing need for Shinto in the near future. The world is approaching an inflection point. The trajectory of history is about to change. Chaos lies just below the surface. Shinto is the key to the future.”
“I appreciate your optimism and support.” Miyazawa bows in front of the holo.
“I assure you that my support is not based on optimism of any sort. It’s entirely realistic. Which brings me to the business at hand.” Ryzaard puts down the statue and lifts a slate off his desk. His eyes peruse its screen. “I’ve been putting the finishing touches on a speech. An important speech.”
“Is that right?” Miyazawa tries to remember any discussions he had with Ryzaard about speeches. Nothing comes to mind.
Ryzaard looks up, staring at Miyazawa. “The topic is world peace. I’m sure that’s a matter about which you have strong feelings.”
“Yes, of course. I’m grateful for the peace enjoyed by the world community for such a long time.” Miyazawa pours himself another steaming cup of tea, spilling most of it.
“As are we all.” Ryzaard’s eyes narrow. “Unfortunately, that peace is fragile. Superficial. Prone to collapse.”
Miyazawa nods. “We should never take it for granted.” He reaches out and delicately picks up the cup, bringing it close to his mouth.
“In two days, it will all end.”
As Miyazawa jerks forward, the tea pours from the cup onto his hand. The cup slips from his burnt fingers to the table and shatters.
“Excuse me,” he says. “I don’t understand what you are—”
“Peace is about to be taken from the earth.”
“But how do you know?”
Ryzaard clears his throat. “That is not relevant to our discussion. But be assured that I speak the truth. This will be a great turning point for Shinto. An opportunity for it to shine as never before. I want you to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready for the speech.”
Miyazawa bows his head. “Of course I will be most honored to attend any occasion at which you will speak. Please keep me informed as to the time and place.”
“The time will depend on events.” A grin plays across Ryzaard’s face. “The place is no mystery. It will happen right where you are sitting.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Confusion pours through Miyazawa’s mind. “You will be coming to my shrine to give a speech on world peace?”
Ryzaard shakes his head. “I’ve just sent the text to you. Please read it over carefully.”
“Sorry to be so—”
“No apologies necessary.” Ryzaard’s palm goes up. “I won’t be giving the speech.”
Nausea creeps into the priest’s stomach. “If you won’t be giving the speech, then who will?”
Ryzaard stares forward. “You.”
CHAPTER 98
Matt hears the sound of his mother’s voice. The fragrance of bacon and eggs snakes its way through the air to his nostrils.
“Matt, time to get up.” The voice comes from upstairs. Footsteps patter back and forth above him in the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready.”
Jolted awake by the aroma in the air, he rises from bed and follows the smell upstairs, as if pulled by an invisible cord. Dad is sitting at the table, reading his slate.
“Good night’s sleep?” Dad smiles, but doesn’t look up.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Matt nods and slumps into his spot. His forehead drops onto the table. He hears Mom open the steam cooker. The smell of fresh rice bursts through the kitchen.
One eye flips open. “What are we doing today, Dad?”
“Let’s see. A whole Saturday all to ourselves. Been a while since we went fishing. Maybe we could take a drive up the Hudson and see if there’s a good spot.”
Both of Matt’s eyes open and he sits up straight. “Serious? That’d be awesome!”
Dad puts down his slate. “Where did you learn to talk like that? Sounds like my old grandpa.” He reaches over and pats Matt on the head.
Mom walks over to the table and gives each of them a heaping bowl of white rice with bacon and eggs stacked on top, adding some sprinkles of shredded seaweed. Matt and Mom drizzle soy sauce over theirs. Dad squeezes out long lines of red ketchup on his.
“What should we do tonight, Dad, after we get back?”
“Thought we’d grab a video off the Mesh, maybe some old sci-fi from when I was a kid.”
“With popcorn?”
“Sure.”
Matt sits back, looks at Mom and Dad, picks up his chopsticks and digs into his bowl.
“Hey, who’s got popcorn?” Yarah says.
Matt opens his eyes and squints in the sun. “Popcorn?”
Yarah jumps up and stretches her arms. “Yeah, you were just talking about it.”
“Did I talk in my sleep?” His gaze drifts through the homeless camp. People are starting to move, warming themselves at fires.
“You did it a lot.” Yarah licks her lips, scanning for something to eat.
Matt opens a bag, reaches in and grabs a cold pork bun. “I was dreaming about home. With my mom and dad, back when I was your age.” He tosses it to Yarah, and she catches it with both hands. “It’s not hot, but it’ll still be good.”
“Where we going?” She bites into the white ball, exposing a core of brown heaven.
“I thought we’d try to find another freedom camp nearby. If there is one.” He takes a pork bun out of the bag for himself, unwraps it and bites in. “May
be that’s where Jessica went.”
Heal the people.
The sudden words in his mind startle Matt. He drops the pork bun on the ground, looks for the source of the voice and sees only Yarah standing near him.
“Did you say something to me?” He picks up the bun and bites into the center.
“Nope. But I’ve been wondering.” Yarah sits and pulls her knees up. “What if—” She breaks off the words and shifts her gaze away from Matt to her hands.
“What if Jessica didn’t make it?” Matt talks between chews.
“Yeah.” Yarah takes another bite. “Or what if Ryzaard has her?”
Matt nods his head. “I’ve thought about it. Just have a gut feeling she’s alive. Can’t really explain it.” He swallows the barbequed pork. “What do you think?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s alive. I think I’d know it if she wasn’t.” Yarah stares at the grass beside her. “Like Leo.”
They both look up at the sound of a woman shrieking and crying uncontrollably. People in the camp run by, gathering at a blue tent twenty meters away.
“What’s going on?” Matt says.
Yarah jumps to her feet and runs to the tent.
Heal the people.
The words play again in Matt’s mind, like an old song that he can’t shake. He runs to catch up with Yarah, finishing the pork bun on the way.
When they get to the tent, a crowd has already gathered. The flap of the tent is unzipped. Matt stands on his toes and looks over the heads into the opening.
“He’s dying.” A woman crouches over a sleeping bag, looking at a gray head sticking out. “Always had a bad heart, but we couldn’t afford doctors. Now he’s slipping away.”
Matt watches as Yarah worms her way through the legs of the crowd and stands in front, hands behind her back, staring into the tent. She walks through the open flap and kneels. Her small hands go up to her eyes, wiping away tears.
No, Yarah. We can’t.