The 4400- the Vesuvius Prophecy

by Greg Cox

  “Putting aside the Cooper issue for now,” Nina said, all business, “I’m more concerned about another aspect of Maia’s vision. She thought she saw Mount Rainier erupting?”

  “She saw it ‘waking up,’ to be exact,” Diana reported. “Earth tremors, jets of hot steam, and so on. It certainly sounds like brewing volcanic activity to me.”

  Marco’s face took on a more serious expression. “That would be serious bad news. Mount Rainier is considered the most dangerous volcano on the continent, mostly due to its proximity to high population centers like Seattle and Tacoma. The main threat would be the lahars, volcanic mudflows composed of pulverized rock and ice. Resembling rivers of wet concrete, the lahars would obliterate everything in their path, including entire towns and forests, as they rushed downhill toward the lowlands. Geological surveys indicate that past lahars have stretched all the way to Seattle, burying everything along the way. You might also get tsunamis in Puget Sound and Lake Washington.” He paused for emphasis. “We’re talking a disaster of catastrophic proportions, way worse than when Mount St. Helens blew its top.”

  “I remember that,” Tom said. “I was in junior high then. The eruption rattled all the doors and windows at our house, waking me up at eight-thirty in the morning, and we were over a hundred miles away from St. Helens. My grandparents’ cabin up in the mountains was completely covered with ash.”

  “Right,” Marco said. “Now imagine a large chunk of Rainier sliding downhill at top speed, only eighty miles away from where we’re sitting right now. And the latest U.S. Geological Survey gives a one-in-seven chance of Rainier erupting in our lifetime.”

  Diana frowned. “According to Maia, the odds are a lot better than that. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.”

  A hush fell over the room as they all contemplated the disaster Marco had just described. That’s what I’ve got waiting for me? Diana thought in chagrin. She briefly flirted with the idea of moving far away from Rainier to ensure that Maia’s prediction never came true. Experience, however, had taught her that the future didn’t work that way. If Maia said something was going to happen, it happened. Any attempts to circumvent her visions invariably led you right to where she predicted. All I can do is trust my instincts and take my chances.

  Nina finally broke the silence. “Just to clarify, this isn’t the Catastrophe that the 4400 are here to prevent?”

  It had been Tom who first discovered that the 4400 had originally been abducted not by aliens, but by inhabitants of the future. In theory, these mysterious individuals had endowed the 4400 with special abilities and returned them to the present in order to change the future somehow, thereby averting some terrible future catastrophe. Diana had only recently met one of the future people in the flesh; “Sarah Rutledge” had posed as Maia’s long-lost sister in an attempt to spirit Maia away to a previous century, as part of yet another stab at altering history. In theory, “Sarah” and her enigmatic cohorts had the best of intentions, but Diana sometimes had her doubts. It was difficult to feel well-disposed toward people who had tried to kidnap her daughter . . .

  “Probably not,” Marco said. “The master plan of our friends in the future is still a bit murky, but everything we’ve learned so far suggests that they’re concerned with some sort of global apocalypse in the distant future, when time travel is actually an option. The eruption of Mount Rainier, as horrific as it would be, is probably not what they’re worried about.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” Nina groused. She looked over the agents assembled in the room. “So now what?”

  Tom cracked his knuckles. “Doesn’t Seattle already have a volcano emergency plan in place?”

  “That’s right,” Marco declared. “A lahar detection system monitors Rainier’s ground vibrations with sensors that transmit radio warnings to both Fort Lewis and Pierce County’s 911 center, which is staffed around the clock. Unfortunately, there might not be much warning when the mountain blows. Once the lahars start moving, a lot of communities will have only forty-five minutes to evacuate before their homes and businesses are swept under. Maybe less.”

  There were over three million people in the Seattle metro area, Diana recalled, not counting all the small towns and suburbs between here and Tacoma. Was it even possible to evacuate that many people in a timely fashion? As a mother, she knew that the local schools held regular volcano emergency drills, but who knew whether all that practice would pay off if and when Rainier finally erupted. If nothing else, the property damage would be immeasurable. Entire communities could disappear beneath the gigantic mudflows. The very landscape of the Pacific Northwest would be changed forever.

  “I see,” Nina said grimly. “I’ll quietly inform FEMA and Pierce County of our concerns, but the last thing we want to start is a panic. This stays between us, at least for the time being.”

  “Are we sure that’s the right thing to do?” Marco asked. “Shouldn’t we warn the public of Maia’s prediction to give them a chance to evacuate? It seems to me that we’ve got the makings of a serious moral dilemma here. Do we have the right to withhold information regarding a potentially major disaster?”

  Diana shuddered at the thought of an eruption catching the citizenry by surprise. “Marco may have a point here. Maia has never been wrong before.”

  “But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a chance to prevent the eruption,” Tom argued. “Isn’t the whole point of the 4400 that the future can be changed? That’s why they were sent back to us in the first place.”

  “Tell me about it,” Marco said. “We’ve spent hours down in the Theory Room trying to reconcile precognition with the concept of a mutable future. Predestination versus time travel. Let me tell you, it’s enough to make your head spin.”

  Nina frowned. “I can’t base my decisions on metaphysics. All I know is that I can’t justify throwing the entire Pacific Northwest into crisis mode simply on the word of one admittedly gifted little girl. I’m going to need a lot more information before I push the panic button on this one.” She lowered the screen on her computer and rose from her seat. “For now, follow up on the ‘D. B. Cooper’ angle. Maybe we can get a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with once we’ve located that piece of the puzzle.”

  “In other words,” Tom said dryly, “you just want us to track down a legendary fugitive who may or may not be alive, and who has eluded capture for nearly forty years?”

  Nina cracked a tight smile as she exited the conference. “You got a problem with that, Baldwin?”

  “Nope, just asking.”

  He shared a wry look with Diana, but she couldn’t shake an ominous sense of dread. Maia had seen Rainier stir from its ancient slumber and Maia was never wrong. And I’m going to be right on top of the mountain when it happens. She knew better than to try to avoid that scenario; for all she knew, any attempts to circumvent Maia’s prediction would lead directly to the very outcome she sought to avert. She could only hope that Maia and Tom and everyone else she cared about was far away from Rainier when the moment came. As far as they knew, only two people were destined to meet atop the quaking mountain.

  Me . . . and D. B. Cooper.

  A few blocks away, a woman sat alone at a Starbucks, sipping on an iced chai as she pretended to read a magazine. Stylish sunglasses concealed the woman’s eyes, which were actually fixed on the meeting taking place in the NTAC conference room. The intervening walls and distance provided no obstacle to her surveillance. She could see through most anything these days, thanks to her singular ability. Her “spy-eyes,” as she thought of them, were a gift from the future. Reading lips, on the other hand, was something she’d had to learn on her own.

  She hadn’t always seen her ability as a blessing. At first, before she learned to control it, her mutated eyes had nearly driven her insane. She had seen too much, too deeply. Human beings had turned into walking collections of bones and organs. She couldn’t even judge where she was or how far away something was anymore. Physical obst
acles and distances had no longer served to orient her. She had lost all sense of her location. Shocking, confusing images impinged on her from all directions, no matter what she did to block them out. Locking herself up in a pitch-black closet had brought her no relief. Not even squeezing her eyes shut had kept the maddening visual overload at bay. She had seen right through her own eyelids.

  In retrospect, she mused, it’s a miracle that I never clawed my eyes out.

  And it was all NTAC’s fault. Although she hadn’t known it then, it was the promicin inhibitor in her bloodstream that had kept her from mastering her new ability. Once the scandal forced the government to stop illegally pumping their poison into her veins at every checkup, she’d discovered how to focus her eyes so that she saw only what she wanted to see. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it.

  Now it seemed that all her efforts had been rewarded. Despite a few frustrating moments, when the NTAC agents’ faces had been turned away from her, she had managed to get the gist of the discussion. Mount Rainier? Oh my God! She fished a cell phone from her purse and hit the speed dial. This news was too big to keep to herself. Her foot tapped impatiently against the floor.

  “It’s me,” she said tersely, once the call was picked up at the other end. “There’s something you need to know. . . .”

  THREE

  THE FACES OF the 4400 blinked across the screen of Tom’s laptop, until they threatened to blur into a meaningless montage of mug shots. Tom paused the search long enough to lift his reading glasses and rub his weary eyes. He had scoured this database so many times that sometimes the familiar faces flashed through his mind even when he was sleeping. Attrition had reduced the surviving returnees’ numbers over the last few years, but there were still a hell of a lot of files to go through. He and Diana had been at this for a couple of hours now. They sat across from each other at a desk in their office, the lids of their laptops flipped up so that they looked like they were playing a game of Battleship together. Tom’s jacket was draped over the back of his chair. A mug of cold coffee rested beside his keyboard.

  “I think I have something,” Diana said.

  A jolt of adrenaline energized Tom. Getting up from his seat, he circled around to look over Diana’s shoulder at the case file on her screen. NTAC mug shots offered front and side views of a middle-aged man with mussed black hair and a heavy tan. A caption identified the man as “DeMeers, Cooper.”

  “He fits the profile,” Diana explained. “Right age, right race, right gender. Same general physique. Plus, he disappeared in 1971, about the same time that D. B. Cooper jumped out of that jet with two hundred thousand dollars.” She rapidly scanned his bio. “He also served as paratrooper during the Korean War, which gives him skydiving experience.”

  Tom peered at the photo on the screen, taken when the man was first processed by Homeland Security, right after the 4400’s return. “He kind of looks like the guy in the FBI sketch. Hard to tell for sure.” Like most of the returnees back then, DeMeers had a dazed, befuddled expression on his face. Unlike the others, fresh scratch marks covered his face, and he was missing one of his front teeth. He looked as if he’d been in a fight or an accident right before he was abducted. “Where is he now?”

  “According to his file, he works as a fish vendor down at Pike Place Market.” She looked up at Tom. “Feel like a trip to the Market?”

  Tom nodded. He reclaimed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s go.”

  Pike Place Market, which was built into a steep hill overlooking the waterfront, was Seattle’s number one tourist attraction, something Diana was acutely reminded of as they made their way through a crowd of locals and tourists toward the front entrance of the Market. Giant red letters spelled out PUBLIC MARKET CENTER above the fresh fish and produce stalls facing the street. The glowing hands of a large neon clock confirmed that it was a little past noon, right in the middle of the midday rush. MEET THE PRODUCERS proclaimed a billboard atop one of the adjacent buildings, summing up the Market’s original mission statement. Although the historic landmark had started out as simply a place where Seattleites could buy their fruits and vegetables directly from local farmers, its copious booths, stalls, and shops now hawked everything from crafts to magic tricks, as well as the freshest seafood in town. A distinctly fishy odor wafted past Diana’s nostrils, reminding her that she hadn’t had lunch yet.

  Maybe I can grab a bite after we pick up DeMeers for questioning, she thought. A life-sized bronze piggy bank, the Market’s official mascot, greeted her at the entrance. Diana rubbed its snout for luck. Hopefully, DeMeers would come with them willingly.

  To avoid creating a scene, they had left their NTAC flak jackets in the car. The two agents blended in with the various shoppers and sightseers as they stepped beneath a wooden awning to approach the fish market. A generous assortment of crabs, clams, oysters, salmon, halibut, catfish, lobster tails, shrimp, squids, rainbow trout, and other aquatic foodstuffs were laid out atop sloping beds of crushed ice. Boxes of smoked salmon, decorated with Northwest Indian designs, packed the shelves behind the front counter, along with gift packs of specialty sauces and spices. Strips of smoked eel hung from a cord stretched up over the stall. CAUTION: LOW FLYING FISH, warned a handwritten sign pinned up over the front counter. Fishmongers, clad in orange rubber overalls, gleefully hurled slippery, silver salmon carcasses back and forth between one another, to the delight and amusement of the crowd, who oohed and aahed in appreciation every time a vendor caught one of the scaly missiles. Light applause greeted each successful toss. Diana remembered bringing Maia to see the fishmongers’ performance not long after she had first adopted her. The wide-eyed girl had correctly predicted the one time a vendor missed a catch.

  “You see him yet?” Tom asked her quietly.

  Diana scanned the faces of the men behind the counter. At first she didn’t spot anyone who looked like D. B. Cooper or Cooper DeMeers, but then her eyes zoomed in on a middle-aged fishmonger weighing a swordfish steak on an electronic scale. Unlike the conservative-looking returnee picked up at Highland Beach two years ago, this man had a shaved skull and a bushy, salt-and-pepper beard. Still, he looked to be the right general age and build: mid-forties, about 175 pounds, a little under six feet tall. A gold tooth glittered near the front of his smile, right where DeMeers had lost one of his upper incisors. She discreetly pointed the bald man out to Tom. “I think that might be him.”

  Tom nodded. “Kind of a new look.”

  “If I were D. B. Cooper,” Diana observed, “I might change my appearance, too. Hijacking a commercial aircraft is a federal offense; there is no statute of limitations. Thirty-three years or not, ‘Dan Cooper’ is still wanted by the FBI.”

  “Good point.” Tom surveyed his surroundings. “But if he got away with two hundred thousand dollars, what’s he doing slinging salmon for a living? Could he really have blown through it all before he was abducted?”

  Diana edged her way through the crowd surrounding the fish market. A busker played a harmonica nearby. A gaggle of chattering teenagers got in her way. “Let’s find out.”

  She found herself wishing that DeMeers worked at a less popular attraction. “Excuse me,” she murmured repeatedly as she and Tom tried to reach the counter. Captivated by the flying fish display, the crowd was reluctant to let her through. The two agents were still a couple of rows of people away from their suspect, however, when a stranger suddenly stepped up to the counter and thrust his face toward the bald-headed fishmonger. “Cooper DeMeers?” the man asked urgently. “Is that you?”

  Who in the world? Diana wondered, caught off guard by this unexpected development. The speaker was a chunky, bull-necked white man, whose reddish-blond crew cut and “Semper Fi” T-shirt hinted that he might be an ex-Marine. A youthful face placed him in his twenties. Narrow green eyes squinted at DeMeers. Diana thought the newcomer looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place his face. She exchanged a puzzled look with Tom, who appeared e
qually baffled. Was this just a coincidence, or something else altogether? Her body tensed for action. Where the 4400 were concerned, she had learned not to take anything for granted.

  “Who’s asking?” the fishmonger replied warily. He had no discernible accent, just like D. B. Cooper. “Do I know you?”

  “You’ve gotta come with me!” Crew Cut insisted. His gruff tone made it clear he wasn’t kidding around. He acted as if it was a matter of life and death. “They’re coming to get you. They know who you are!”

  Uh-oh, Diana thought. This isn’t good.

  “That does it.” Tom reached beneath his jacket and pulled out his badge, which he raised in the air. “NTAC!” he shouted over the hubbub. Abandoning subtlety, he and Diana began to elbow their way through the crowd. “Everybody stay right where they are!”

  DeMeers’s eyes widened in alarm. He started to back away, but Crew Cut reached across the counter and grabbed on to his arm. “Hurry! Come with me!” He tugged DeMeers toward a gap in the counter. “We can still get away!”

  “Let go of me!” DeMeers shouted. Frightened brown eyes shifted back and forth between the stranger and the NTAC agents closing in on him. Scattered applause gave way to confused murmurs and exclamations as the milling crowd became aware of the disturbance. Nervous spectators backed away from the confrontation, getting in the way of Diana and Tom, who could only watch in frustration as the burly stranger refused to release his grip on DeMeers’s arm. The fishmonger stared in confusion at the hand clutching his wrist. He flinched, as though jolted by static electricity. “Hey, what are you doing to me?” He tried to yank his arm free. “Let go, damnit!”

  Diana felt the situation escalating out of control. “Both of you,” she shouted. “Hands in the air where I can see them!”

  Crew Cut ignored her, but DeMeers’s face swung toward her. He was visibly agitated; his entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Swollen veins throbbed at his temples. His eyes were bloodshot. For a second, Diana feared he was having some sort of seizure.