by Graham Brown
He turned to his own scientist and then the screen with the president’s image and then across the room to where Nathanial Ahiga sat quietly, watching the whole thing like a spectator, drinking a grape soda through a straw.
“You!” Moore shouted. “Say something, damn you. The president sent you here to share your opinion, to decide who’s right. Well, it’d be nice if you opened up your goddamned mouth once in a while.”
As Moore lashed out at anyone in reach, he realized that he was now attacking the referee. He didn’t care anymore; he was beyond exhaustion, and in his current state it was all he could do to recognize his self-implosion. He was powerless to stop it.
Ahiga looked at him curiously and the whole room went quiet. Even the White House feed only buzzed with static. Perhaps realizing that the spotlight was on him, the old Gallup, New Mexico, resident took another sip from his grape soda.
“You want me to speak,” he asked, rhetorically. His voice was soft and gravelly, like smooth-sided stones rumbling together. “Of course. I can do that, as long as all the yelling and shouting is done.”
He cleared his throat, and put the soda bottle down. “In my opinion,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking straight at Moore, “you’re wrong.”
It seemed as if he’d just decided randomly, a flip of a mental coin. Or perhaps it was because Moore had yelled at him. Could the man take his job any less seriously?
“That’s it?” Moore said. “That’s all you have?”
“No,” Ahiga said, nodding toward Stecker. “He’s wrong, too. You’re both running around in circles. Shouting and yelling and making all this racket. Hard to think with so much noise. I’d like to say it’s white man’s noise, but my father made it, too: the sound of people who want to be right, not people who want to know the truth.”
As Moore stared at Ahiga, he shrugged again. “Do I know what the answer is? No,” he said. “I don’t know. But I know enough to see where you’ve gone wrong.”
“And where’s that?”
“Both of you are trying to decide what to do based on what these men of the future have done. Based on their actions and what they’ve sent you and whatever record they left of it. And by doing that, you’re missing the whole point.”
Moore struggled to follow the logic.
“You’re mixing up cause and effect,” Ahiga elaborated. “When they made their decision a thousand years from now, all of this — the finding of the stones, this argument, whatever results from it, if anything — it was already done and gone. Ancient history, so to speak. And that means they made their decision based on what we did. They didn’t send these stones here to make us do one thing or another. They sent them here because in some way, we asked them to.”
In his polite way, Ahiga looked around at them.
“We’re the cause, and their actions are the effect. Our choice is their destiny, not the other way around. If they live in misery because our warlike nature finally got the best of us, then it’s our choices that caused it, regardless of these stones. And if they live in paradise, then we should get the credit for that, too.”
“So you’re saying we don’t have a choice?” the president asked.
“No, I’m not saying that at all,” Ahiga said. “Of course we have a choice, but whatever we eventually choose, it will lead them to send these stones our way, be it for destruction or for salvation.”
Moore sat down and exhaled. Even Stecker had been stunned into silence.
“Well, that kind of circular logic doesn’t help us much,” Moore mumbled.
“I know,” Ahiga said, sitting back down and grabbing the soda bottle for another sip. “That’s why I was keeping it to myself.”
CHAPTER 54
Even through the slightly distorted, electronically encrypted satellite transmission, Danielle could tell from the sound of Moore’s voice that things had gotten worse. But it was not just the geopolitical news or Beltway power grabs that had him upset.
“I have some information on Yuri,” he said. “Some from a source of my own, some from Stecker, of all people, courtesy of a highly placed source in the Russian Science Directorate. I believe it’s accurate.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, fearing the worst.
“I’ll download the details for you, and you can use the data screen on the phone to view them, but here’s the gist of it: Yuri was born just outside the hot zone near Chernobyl. His parents, whoever they were, could not take care of him, as he came into this world with the degenerative nerve disease you see in him now. The actual diagnosis remains a mystery but what is known is that it attacks the nerve fibers relentlessly. At first the afflicted person notices tics and shudders but soon they turn into full-on tremors and even seizures. By stage three the person has lost all motor control and by stage four involuntary muscles like the heart cease to operate, resulting in death.”
Danielle reeled as Moore spoke the words. “What’s the progression?”
“Under normal circumstances, five years to get to stage three, ten years maximum before the terminal condition.”
She thought about what he was saying. “Are you sure? Because I don’t see many symptoms at all, and unless there’s something wrong with your math, Yuri would be dead already.”
“Nothing wrong with my math,” Moore said. “Yuri is still alive because the Russians have been treating him in an unusual manner. In rare cases, high levels of direct electrostimulation of the nerve fibers, spinal column, or cerebral cortex have been shown to slow the progression of the disease.”
“He has an object buried in his cortex,” she said, relaying what they’d discovered at the emergency room. “Some kind of implant.”
“Yes,” Moore said. “It was an experiment. And in addition to retarding or reversing the disease, it’s that implant that seems to have given him the abilities you’ve noticed, the power to see or sense electromagnetic disturbances.”
She had felt nothing but a sense of revulsion when she’d learned that Yuri had been the subject of experiments, but now her perspective changed. “The trial seems to have worked,” she said. “At least physically.”
“It’s not all roses,” Moore said.
“Why?”
“After looking at the data and the rather strange etymology of the device, we’ve come up with a guess as to what they implanted in Yuri’s brain. It isn’t a piece of medical equipment, it’s a shard of the Russian stone, which the Russian Science Directorate has been in possession of since the fifties.”
“What?” She could not believe what she was hearing.
“It seems the Russians found their stone long ago, or at least they found what was left of it,” Moore said.
“What are you saying?”
“Yesterday I got blindsided by Stecker. He and his team tied these stones into the continued reduction in the earth’s magnetic field. Quite a competent job,” he added, sounding disgusted. “They appear to be correct in some ways, including a link between the stones and a weakening magnetic field.”
“Are you kidding me?” she asked.
“No,” Moore said. “Each time we’ve pulled a stone out of the ground, there has been a corresponding reduction in the field strength and a shift in location of the north magnetic pole.”
Danielle listened and thought. She was suddenly back in Kang’s brig, listening to Petrov tell of how his vessel had lost its way, sailing north instead of south, relying only on the magnetic compass. The pole had moved, but he didn’t know it. She thought of the GPS going out, the sharks following them, and now she knew why: Yuri and the shard embedded in his brain. The small pulse on November 21 in the Bering Sea had to have come from him, with the sharks tracking them, just as the sharks in the gulf had homed in on her when she carried the stone.
“There was a similar weakening in 1908,” Moore added. “It took me awhile to understand why.”
“The Russians pulled the stone that far back?” she asked.
“Not exactly,�
�� Moore said. “We think the stone detonated or self-destructed in central Russia in June of that year.”
June 1908. The date was familiar. “The Tunguska blast,” she said.
“You know the story?”
“Of course,” she said. “Summer 1908, a massive explosion shook the Russian tundra. Fireballs were seen in the sky from three hundred miles away, trees knocked over like dominoes for twenty miles in every direction. Most people think it was caused by the airburst of a meteor or perhaps even a small asteroid. Expeditions have gone looking for the remnants but as far as I know, nothing was ever found. Last figure I saw equated the burst with a thirty-megaton bomb.”
“Try fifty,” Moore said. “According to the Russians anyway. Two thousand times the power of the Hiroshima bomb.”
“And you’re telling me it was one of the stones?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he said. “The drop in the magnetic field coincides exactly with the event. The blast itself has remained unexplainable even with the theory of an airburst. No crater, no radiation. And then there is the one thing the Russians did find.”
“The remnants of the stone,” she guessed.
“As it turns out,” he said. “In 1957, amid the chill of the cold war, the Russians mounted an expedition that they have never admitted to. And using the latest technology of the time they were able to find what they considered a ground zero of the event.
“Highly distorted magnetic readings led them to believe they had zeroed in on the nickel-iron core of a fallen meteor, at the bottom of Lake Cheko. A year of underwater work recovered nothing, until suddenly the magnetic readings shifted and all electronic systems failed in the main dredging boat. During the repairs a magnetometer led them to a single shard that had been hauled aboard just prior to the meltdown.”
“And the Russians had it all this time,” she said.
“One of the prize possessions of the Science Directorate.”
“And they used it on Yuri,” she said. “I can see why they want him back.”
“They want the shard back,” Moore said, “and they don’t want the world knowing what they’ve been using it for. As I said, it was an experiment.”
“And at the end of the experiment?” she asked.
“It was to be removed,” he said. “A procedure that would likely kill him.”
Danielle shuddered. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How did he end up with Kang?”
“It appears that some members of the directorate thought that removing the shard from Yuri was an inhuman decision. They kidnapped him with the help of some contacts. They sold him to Kang under promises of his good treatment. We think they’re all dead now.”
“And why did Kang want him?”
“Because Kang, who hasn’t been seen in public for years, suffers from the same disease that Yuri has. Based on the timing of his disappearance, it’s believed he came down with it five years ago. If the rumors are true, he’ll be dead in a year or so.”
Now it made sense, at least some of it. “He had Yuri,” she pointed out. “He could have operated on him right then.”
“It seems Kang doesn’t want just a shard,” Moore said. “He believed Yuri could lead him to the stones that remained. And with those stones he could do more than gain remission; he could be healed completely.”
“So there is no fourth stone,” she said, wondering what that meant for the prophecy, either good or bad.
If the stones were designed to help, she wondered if they would have enough power to complete their task. And if they were designed to cause some havoc, would Russia now be spared while North and Central America bore the brunt of it?
“At least not anything more than a splinter,” Moore said.
Danielle took a moment to absorb what she’d just heard and then asked the obvious. “And what’s going to happen when these stones fulfill their mission?” All along she’d felt they were pursuing the right road, but now … she suddenly felt her conviction shifting.
“I don’t know,” Moore admitted. “I should think you and McCarter would have a better grasp on that than I do.”
“What’s going to happen to Yuri?” she asked pointedly.
Moore hesitated, and then spoke remorsefully. “We believe the next pulse will be far more powerful than the last. Maybe a hundred times more powerful. Maybe a thousand. And if Yuri is affected proportionally …”
“He’ll die,” she said, finishing his sentence.
Moore didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
It seemed impossible to her, unfair beyond comprehension that Yuri could have gone through all he’d been through just to die now. She could not accept that this would be his end. There had to be a way to save him. There had to be.
She heard Moore talking, but her mind had gone numb.
“There’s more at stake here than just Yuri,” he said. “You have to stay clear on this, remain unemotional.”
Once upon a time that had been her forte.
“If you even tell me to look at the bigger picture I’ll—”
“You do need to look at the bigger picture,” he said. “If the legend is true, if it’s history and not speculation, then billions will die if we do the wrong thing. Hundreds of millions of them will be children just like Yuri.”
She took a breath and tried to harden herself as she’d once been able to. Finally she spoke. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’ve been instructed to give you the following order: Set your watches to count down independently. If you do not hear from us prior to the reading triple zero on the clock, you are to destroy the stone and bury the remnants in the deepest hole you can find.”
“They gave you a contingency order,” she said, realizing it had come from someone other than Moore. “Fine, it’s noted. But what do you want us to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “I feel they’re misreading this thing badly, but I can’t ask you to violate the order. Not without absolute proof.”
She knew what he wanted to say, but she understood why he held back.
“Figure out your own thoughts on this,” he added. “Find some peace with whatever you decide, and then tell me if you can do what I ask or not.”
She looked around the small guest room. Out the window at the gathering dusk she saw the people of San Ignacio. There were children getting ready for their posada play. She wanted to go see Yuri.
“I will,” she said.
“Good.”
She signed off, put the phone down, and fought hard against the tears that were trying to break through.
CHAPTER 55
Hawker sat on the steps of the guesthouse watching the procession in the street. A group of the youngest children from the village were reenacting the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem. A young boy was wearing a long, blue cloth as if it were a robe; beside him a young girl wore white with yellow trim as she rode atop a small burro. The rest of the town’s children followed them. Hawker even saw Yuri mixed in with the group.
The boy playing Joseph dutifully led the burro and its passenger from door to door, knocking politely and asking if there were any “habitaciones en la posada.” Any room at the inn.
At each door the children of the group inhaled with expectation, but one by one they were told no. Finally, at a house several doors up from the church, a face looked out on the young Mary and Joseph and smiled.
“Sí,” the woman said.
And the children went wild.
Minutes later the party was in full swing, with music playing, a piñata being smashed, fresh food and drink for everyone. Scenes like this were taking place all over Mexico on the nights leading up to Christmas.
In the Mayan towns like the one McCarter had temporarily resided in, a different festival was being celebrated, one that focused on the winter solstice and combined it with the looming end date on the Mayan calendar.
Scenes of joy and happiness everywhere. Hawker wondered what they
would think if they knew what he knew.
Watching the party from a distance, Yuri saw him and smiled. Hawker waved and Yuri swirled away with the other kids, running and playing like a normal child.
A town like this would probably be paradise for the kid. It had electricity, but not all that much ran on it: small bulbs strung across the street to give a little public light, a few radios and televisions and phones, but nothing like the cities.
Maybe when it was all over they could just leave Yuri here, let the family that was caring for him adopt him, and allow the little guy to actually live for once. To some extent Hawker wouldn’t have minded staying here himself.
He put the thought out of his mind, picked himself up, and made his way across the street. He entered the church intending to check on McCarter and was surprised to find Danielle lighting a candle by the altar.
She wore a cotton, flower print dress of red and black. It fit like it was made for her. Her chestnut brown hair spilled over her shoulders in long, straight locks. He almost didn’t recognize her.
“Danielle?”
She turned.
“Look at you.”
She actually blushed slightly, then glanced toward the door as firecrackers went off outside at the party.
“You like it?”
It was so different. “I’ve never seen you like this.” He couldn’t stop smiling.
“I borrowed it from the woman who is taking care of Yuri,” she said.
“I just saw him,” Hawker said. “He’s enjoying himself.”
Her smile faded. “At least for now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Moore thinks Yuri will die when the stones release their energy tomorrow.”
“What?” Hawker said, shocked. “Why?”
“Because the object buried in his cerebral cortex isn’t a medical device; it’s a shard from the Russian stone.”
She went on to explain what Moore had told her, what it meant. Hawker looked away. It was like they just couldn’t win.
Danielle turned back toward the altar. She took the candle she was holding, whispered a prayer, and placed it beside the others.