by Graham Brown
“You’re telling me this thing had something to do with that?” Stecker said bluntly.
“No,” Moore replied, “but something connected with it might have.”
Stecker’s eyes went from the glowing object to Moore to the president, as if to make sure everything around him was real and on the level.
“Is this some kind of an experiment?”
“No,” Moore said. “We didn’t develop this stone; we found it. We’re studying it, and we’re not yet certain about the implications of what we’re learning.”
“Which are?”
“I told you. This stone seems to create power. Manufacturing energy in a way we don’t yet understand. One that violates the first law of physics.”
“I’m not one of your scientists, Arnold. But I’m not an idiot. Talk to me in terms I’ll understand.”
This was the reason Moore dreaded bringing the CIA in the mix. The NRI was primarily a scientific organization, even if one wing of it was dedicated to stealing science from other nations. The CIA was about power, gathering knowledge on a more tactical scale. If we do this, then they will do that. Neither Stecker nor anyone else at the CIA would easily grasp what Moore and his people now believed.
“The First Law of Physics,” Moore said. “Energy can neither be created or destroyed. To power your car you burn gasoline, the combustion creates heat, the heat creates pressure to expand the gases, and the rapid expansion drives the pistons. The energy is derived from the breaking of chemical bonds in the petroleum distillates. Chemical bonds that were slowly built up over thousands of years as the poor, dead dinosaurs turned themselves into crude oil.”
He paused to make sure Stecker was with him.
“When you run your car you’re releasing stored energy, not creating it. A nuclear plant does the same thing in a different way. It splits atoms, and the breaking of that bond does exactly what the breaking of the chemical bond in the petroleum does: It releases stored energy, but on a much greater scale. In both cases, however, the energy was always present, and its potential could be determined before it was used.”
He pointed toward the stone. “But this thing is different. It’s emitting energy through no process we are able to understand — at times, massive amounts of it. Our best explanation is that it is somehow creating energy or perhaps drawing it from a quantum background.”
Stecker looked dizzy. He responded less arrogantly than Moore would have expected, perhaps because he was off balance.
“Okay,” he said. “So that’s what it does. You have a stone here that makes energy. Great, let’s hook it up to the grid and stop the global warming everyone’s so worried about. But that doesn’t explain why it’s so important, why so few people were told about it in the first place, or why you’re telling me about it now.”
Moore looked to the president. He nodded; it was time for the whole truth.
“Because,” Moore said, “the stone is not some naturally occurring entity. It’s not a rock, or some exotic new element found in the depths of the earth. It’s a piece of machinery constructed by the hands of men and women. One that was found along with a horribly mutated human skeleton and a prophecy of doom, predicting the downfall of civilization. Billions killed in war, waves of disease and famine, punishment for the sins of human pride. All of it stemming from an event on December twenty-first, 2012.”
Stecker scoffed at what he was hearing. “The Mayan prophecy,” he said. “The one I can’t turn on the damn TV without hearing about. Is that what we’re talking about here?”
Moore nodded. “The glyphs McCarter found refer to it as the day of Black Sun.”
“Black Sun? Like an eclipse? Like from a solar flare?”
“We don’t know,” Moore said.
“You don’t know?”
“No, Byron,” Moore said, exasperated. “We don’t know. In case you didn’t realize it, hieroglyphics don’t come with footnotes and a commentary. So we’re figuring it out as we go along.”
Stecker didn’t look convinced. “Come on, Arnold,” he said finally. “The world is full of lunatics telling us the end is near; you can find them on any street corner if you want. Why the hell should we care about this one?”
“Because,” Moore said, “in our case, the lunatic wasn’t a prophet but a historian.”
“Excuse me?”
The president stepped in and lowered the hammer of truth as bluntly as possible.
“Byron, we care about this doomsday prophecy because of its origin, because the NRI believes that it, and this stone, were created not thousands of years ago, but eleven centuries from now, by our descendants, three hundred generations removed.”
Stecker’s eyes went wide at what the president was saying.
Moore tried to explain. “The body I spoke of bore the remnants of advanced prosthetics that had been implanted into it or had been grown over by the living bone. From the description and its surroundings, our conclusions were that this person had suffered massive mutation or even purposeful genetic modification designed to help it survive life in a sulfurous acidic environment.”
“I can’t believe you’re—”
“This is no joke,” Moore insisted.
Stecker looked at the president, who shook his head solemnly.
Stecker exhaled sharply. Whether he believed what he was being told or not, Moore couldn’t decide, but at least he’d stopped arguing the point. “So this thing’s a problem?”
“Yes,” Moore replied. “And it’s not the only one. One of my people, a scholar named McCarter, studied the hieroglyphic data we brought back from Brazil. He concluded that this stone is one of four.”
“There are three others out there?”
“We think so,” Moore said. “Two in Central America, one somewhere in the Eurasian plain, probably central Russia.”
“Have we told them about this?” Stecker asked the president.
Henderson shook his head.
“Well, that’s something,” Stecker said. “You got anyone looking for that one?” he asked Moore.
“Can you think of a way to do it, without alerting them?”
“No,” Stecker said. “Good move.” He appeared cordial for the first time. It didn’t last long. “Okay,” he continued. “So let’s say I believe all this. What’s the point?”
“We’re not sure,” Moore said. “But we come to one possible conclusion: A thousand years from now the world is not like the one we live in today. Our best guess: radioactive background, skies of acid rain filled with carbon and sulfur.”
“And this … stone … is supposed to do something about that?”
“It seems logical,” Moore said.
“Then why are you telling me about it?”
Moore looked at the president.
“Because,” President Henderson said, “I want both of you working on it, both agencies, along with the best minds you can find.”
“Why now?”
This time Moore answered. “Because the stone is building up a wave of energy, priming itself for something massive and sending out a signal that diminishes slightly in length with each new iteration. A signal that will reach zero, eleven days from now on December 21, 2012.”
CHAPTER 21
Standing on the weather-beaten deck of a rusted, aging freighter, Danielle watched over the port rail as Hong Kong disappeared behind them. They’d bribed their way onto the vessel and sailed with it in the early hours of the morning. The ship, laden to the brim with small-engine parts and other manufactured goods, was headed on a southeasterly course toward its home port in Manila. Danielle’s own home lay much farther away and if she was right it would be a long time before she saw it again.
While Hawker minded Yuri, she attempted to contact Arnold Moore on the satellite phone.
“Thank God you’re alive,” Moore exclaimed. “I honestly feared the worst. The explosion at Kang’s tower was all over the news. Back channels are reporting Kang’s security killing a number
of people who they’re calling terrorists.”
She thought about Petrov. “I think some people were killed, but they weren’t terrorists. And we’re okay. But I’m worried about McCarter — Hawker said you’d heard from him.”
“He reached us shortly after you were taken,” Moore said to her. “But no contact since. He said he was injured, but insisted it was manageable, so I have no explanations for his silence. I have several teams looking for him. But Mexico’s a big country.”
“He’d run even if he saw them,” she said, thinking about how little McCarter trusted the NRI. “You don’t think Kang has gotten to him?”
“Doubtful,” Moore said. “Our data shows his people swarming all over the Yucatan. But nothing to suggest he’s found McCarter. So wherever the good professor is hiding, let’s hope he maintains the sense to stay there. Perhaps he’ll listen to you, if we can reestablish contact.”
After a moment of contemplation Danielle decided that was unlikely. Once upon a time she had dragged McCarter into things, but in this case he was a fellow zealot, all but possessed by the need to push on. The fact that he would not fly back to the States after what had happened was only the latest proof.
“Is Hawker with you?” Moore asked.
She looked ahead on the deck to where Hawker was watching Yuri, showing the boy how to use his hand like a wing and let it ride on the wind. Yuri didn’t speak often but as he copied Hawker’s actions his face beamed with joy.
She’d felt a similar wave of happiness at seeing Hawker again, mostly because he was rescuing her, but also because he was a friend. That was a precious commodity she’d pretty much run out of.
“He is,” she said.
“And what’s your situation?”
“I think our departure went unnoticed, but we’re not without problems.”
“Kang.” Moore guessed.
“To begin with,” she replied. “But it goes beyond that now. Do you know a Russian named Saravich?”
“Ivan Saravich?” Moore said, clearly recognizing the name. “I know of him. What the hell’s he got to do with this?”
“Tell me who he is first,” she said.
“Saravich is an old KGB hound. Back a few years he was listed as an enforcer, a problem solver for them. I’d have guessed he’d been put out to pasture by now.”
“Not unless his pasture is the south coast of China,” she said. “Apparently he bribed or removed your contact there and took a meeting with Hawker in his place.”
“To what end?”
“It seems Kang stole something from mother Russia as well: a twelve-year-old boy named Yuri.”
“Why?” Moore said, surprised.
“Saravich fed Hawker some line about the kid being used to extort information out of a Russian scientist. But I think the real reason has to do with his being a subject of experiments at the Russian Science Directorate.”
She glanced at Yuri. “He seems a little restrained, almost autistic or something. He also seems to have a sixth sense regarding energy fields, electricity, and magnetism.”
“Odd,” Moore said. “You think it’s connected with the search for the stones.”
“Kang is after them,” she said. “God knows why or even how he heard about them but a person who could sense varying degrees of electromagnetism might be very helpful in such an event.”
“I guess it makes sense,” Moore said. “The Russians have been known to experiment with psychics, clairvoyance, and things like that for years. It doesn’t surprise me that they had this kid in some type of program. But as far as I know it’s always been a big joke to them, their version of the four hundred dollar hammers and the bridge to nowhere. Certainly nothing has ever come of it that I’m aware of. But if Saravich is involved, they must feel differently about this boy.”
“The thing is,” she said, “Hawker made a deal with Saravich regarding the kid. A deal I broke.”
Moore was silent for a moment, a fact that concerned her.
“I’m guessing that’s a problem,” she said.
“Saravich will come after you,” Moore explained. “And Hawker especially. He’s a prideful son of a bitch. Even if he could let it go, he wouldn’t.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” she said. “See if you can leak some misdirection, buy us some time. Otherwise I think Hawker is going to go after him, try to take him head-on.”
It was something she didn’t want to see happen, not just because she feared for Hawker but because she didn’t want any more blood on her hands.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Moore said. “Where are you, now?”
“You know the proverbial slow boat to China?” she asked. “We’re on the return trip. We’ll be in Manila in a few days. How are things going on your end?”
“Not well,” Moore said. “The CIA is involved now. A sense of fear has begun to develop about the stone. Even in the president’s mind.”
“That’s not good news,” she noted.
“No,” he said, “it’s not. The president wants two separate teams studying it. So we’re getting joint custody, it seems. And he wants the stone moved out of Washington. We’re taking it to Nevada. A lab is being set up inside Yucca Mountain, at the unfinished nuclear waste depository.”
She realized there could be only one reason for that. “The energy pulse is still growing.”
“Our containment building was in danger of a breach, but the bigger fear is detonation. We’ve pinpointed the parameters of the countdown and the zero state will be reached on December twenty-first, at 5:32 in the evening, Pacific time.”
Danielle listened to the date. McCarter had recounted the story to her several times. At the end of this epoch, which had begun 5,114 years before, the Mayan Long Count Calendar rolled over, resetting its digits to zero. The prophecy spoke of the world ending in a flood of darkness. Dark sky, dark waters pouring from the heavens, dark earth. By itself the legend was just mythology, but when connected with the stone they’d found and its pending countdown and McCarter’s theory that there were at least three others like it, the myth had taken on a disconcerting reality.
“When are you moving it?” she asked.
“End of the week. And if we can’t figure out what this thing is supposed to do, or find the other stones in Mexico that might be doing the same thing, they’re going to destroy this one, bury what’s left, and hope for the best.”
Since the day he’d seen it, Moore had treated the stone almost like a divine gift of some kind. He saw purpose in it. Danielle felt the same way, but sometimes she wondered if she could trust those feelings.
They’d sought to keep it hidden from the CIA and military because the first question from those organizations would undoubtedly be how to use it as a weapon. And now two years later, with the stone generating more and more energy and counting down to something, it seemed as if that might be exactly what it was.
“Do you want me to bring you home?” Moore asked. “You’re entitled. And I’m sure Marcus would be thrilled to have you back.”
She smiled at the mention of the name and felt a sudden wave of anxiety, all at the same time.
“You sure about that?” she asked. “I think the neighbors called D.C. Metro after our last fight.”
“Pride does strange things to people. He’s angry, but you know he wants you back.”
She wondered. It had been a painful departure. “Does he know I’m okay?”
“Of course,” Moore said. “I contacted him as soon as I got word. And I’ll confirm it to him once we’re done here. Unless you want to tell him yourself.”
The offer caught her by surprise. She was an operative on a mission. It was a position that didn’t allow call-ins to home. Still, she liked the idea. She wanted to hear his voice, to tell him she was okay. But something held her back.
“You’d be bending the rules for me,” she said.
“Marcus was one of us once,” he said. “I can bend them for both of you, or I can bring you
home.”
That offer sounded like a godsend. A huge part of her wanted to be done with the madness. She was drained emotionally and physically from everything that had happened. How nice it would feel to go home, sleep in her own bed, and wake up to Marcus making coffee for her. And even if their relationship was ruined, even if he’d moved on, or was still too angry to forgive her, she wanted to get home, to see him, even if just to explain more calmly why she’d made her particular choice. Yet as the thought crossed her mind she wondered why she should have to explain herself.
It seemed like the same old fight was already brewing. And McCarter was still out there, missing. She’d taken up the baton to protect him and she wasn’t ready to relinquish it until he was safe.
Feeling a sick sense of déjà vu she decided. “If you’re right, something catastrophic is about to happen,” she said. “What good is coming back home, if I arrive on the wings of disaster? Unless you have someone better in mind, the best thing I can do for everyone is to press on.”
She told herself it was cold logic, but she knew there was more to it. She knew herself well enough to sense the avoidance in her decision. She was ducking something: not the fight that would likely flare up once again, that came all too easily, but something else, something deeper. It was as if some truth waited there for her and she wasn’t ready to see it yet.
Moore remained silent, but Danielle sensed that he approved and perhaps had even expected this. “You sure?” he asked finally.
“I finish what I start,” she said. “Please ask Marcus to forgive me.”
“I will,” Moore said. “Do you think you can find McCarter?”
Danielle thought about what had taken place in Mexico. The work she and McCarter had done. The discussions they’d had. It had been only eight days earlier, but she found it was like trying to recall what one had done a year or two ago. Still, something came to her.
“I have an idea where to start,” she said.
“Good,” Moore said, sounding proud of her. “What about Hawker? It might be helpful if he came with you. It’ll keep him from going after Saravich.”