by Mary Eicher
“Sam, darling, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked as she walked into the room.
“What isn’t wrong?” he growled at his wife.
“You just have your normal pre-election jitters, Sam. I know you are going to win.” She gave him a radiant smile and patted his cheek.
Sarah was a lovely woman, a picture-perfect politician’s spouse. In her early fifties she looked young and energetic and, in counterpoint to her husband’s street bully temperament, had an air of elegance the voters loved.
“Listen, I just got off the phone with Jim. He thinks I should go to the fair at the cathedral this afternoon while you’re giving your speech. Instead of being window dressing for you, I can get out and talk to people. The Catholic vote is as important as any other, and you didn’t do well with them last time.”
He helped her fasten the clasp to the bracelet she’d been struggling with.
“Are you up to it, Sarah? You’ve been down with migraines all week. You barely made this trip.”
She patted his hand. “I feel wonderful today. I’ll enjoy getting out in the sunshine.” She drew the cord that opened the curtains at the balcony. “Look at that! Another perfect day in paradise. I love California, Sam. I really do.”
“And California loves you.” Sam smiled. “You are always the best part of my campaigns. All right, go to the fair and press the flesh for us. Get us some Catholic votes. We may need them.”
She straightened his tie and reached up to give him a kiss.
“All this commotion can only help you, Sam. People don’t want to change leaders when things are in turmoil. I’m sure you’ll win. You have always been a winner.”
Sarah had a strange look in her eyes as she spoke. “You have always made me proud, darling. I love you.”
*
Uberdorf positioned himself a block and a half from the festivities. He sat at a table on the patio of Starbucks and had a clear view of the park and the church fair. His men had begun to arrive now that the park was filling up with people. The Servants wore their brown robes and politely smiled at people as they entered and exited the park. Uberdorf was in slacks and shirt, just a regular Joe relaxing on a Sunday afternoon. A baseball cap concealed his trademarked tonsure. He used his cell periodically to see how the plan was progressing.
The Servants carried paper bags with C4 blocks and detonators. The small bags were easy to conceal in the voluminous sleeves and pockets of their robes. Periodically, they would walk through the fair and deposit a bag at a booth, usually beneath the front table or behind the back, out of sight. Uberdorf pulled a second cell from his shirt pocket. He checked the battery on the burner and then returned it to his pocket. He wasn’t going to need it for at least an hour.
He watched as a limousine arrived and a sophisticated middle-aged woman got out amid a cadre of suited guards. Uberdorf recognized her immediately. The woman was Sarah Hemsley, the socialite wife of the current governor. His mind began to weigh the options. Should he wait until she left before detonating the plan, he wondered. Would her death work for him or against him? Would she be a victim among hundreds of others or a martyr? He didn’t want martyrs. He wanted victims.
He lifted the ball cap and scratched the bald spot at the top of his head. He’d have to think about it. Maybe it was better to just wait until she left. Or he could follow the original plan. He watched her work the crowd, drawing ever nearer to the end of the park closest to him. She turned and gazed in his direction. It felt creepy to Uberdorf that she was looking directly at him for a moment. She seemed to recognize him. Maybe he was so famous he could no longer be disguised. He chuckled at such an idea and got up to order another cappuccino.
Sarah Hemsley visited each booth, greeting everyone with a charming smile and a velvet voice. She was a professional. When the bishop arrived, she made a drama of greeting him and walked arm-in-arm with him as she continued through the park. The bishop, aware that Sarah was a Methodist, didn’t seem to mind her attentions.
Uberdorf, still undecided, sent a coded text. He’d leave it up to the mentor whether to wait for the governor’s wife to leave or proceed with the plan. His mentor hadn’t even agreed to the bombing until yesterday; not that their silence had constrained Jamil. This time the mentor wasn’t replying at all. Uberdorf slipped the phone into his shirt pocket. He would wait another half hour, but then he would have to act. The fair had passed its peak and the crowd was beginning to thin out. He drummed his fingers and then lit a cigarette. This had suddenly become difficult.
Sarah Hemsley looked up into the blue California sky. She would miss it; that and the rich full life she had lived since birth. The Harbinger had selected her three days ago. She had used the time to complete the activities she had launched to ensure Sam’s reelection. Her martyrdom was to be the crowning achievement. This final act was her gift to the man she had pushed forward for twenty years. She glanced at the bracelet watch. It was past the time Uberdorf had said he would detonate the bombs. She glanced at the man down the street and willed him to act. She was ready.
Uberdorf cocked his head. What was up with that, he wondered. Was the governor’s wife flirting with him? He checked his phone. The mentor still hadn’t responded. The decision was up to him.
He watched a family with several young children exit the park. He took out the burner cell and waited for them to reach the safety of their car. Then he dialed the phone. He wasn’t a monster, he told himself, watching the family he’d spared drive away as explosions sounded in the park. They erupted all at once in a gigantic fireball that rose into the air amid swirls of dark-gray smoke. The shock wave blew out windows surrounding the park. Uberdorf sipped his coffee and watched rubble and body parts fall back to the ground. Then the screaming started and Uberdorf grinned as his Servants rushed into the carnage and began helping the survivors. Sarah Hemsley was not among them.
*
Artemis waited in the driveway for the Uber to take her to Ontario Airport. Her motorcycle was in the garage, and the house was secured. She didn’t know how long she would be gone, but the bills were paid, and she had left a message with Lucy’s mother telling her where she was going and how she could be reached. She wished Lucy were going with her. The memory of the joy-filled trip to Rome came to mind. But joy remembered was more a torment than a consolation. It did not slake the sadness that had enclosed her.
“If you liked Rome, Lucy, you’d love this trip. Hawaii is my favorite place in the entire world,” Artemis whispered to the one present only in her heart.
The car pulled up, and she got in the back seat. They took Route 60 to the airport. The Uber driver started several conversations until she asked him to turn on some music. She couldn’t bear another nowhere discussion about the Harbinger, and it annoyed her that the man had even brought it up, knowing it was his way of verifying she wasn’t infected. She noted the sticker with the haloed H on his windshield and shook her head. People were afraid and clinging for anything that gave them comfort.
The news came on the radio. An explosion in downtown LA was being breathlessly reported. Scores of dead and injured were involved. Artemis thought of Lucy and wondered if she was off to cover the story but knew instantly she wouldn’t be. Lucy was home tending to Angie. Artemis could see them in her mind as clearly as if she were standing beside them. Angie pale and asleep in her mother’s arms, Lucy wearing the look of anguish Artemis had seen when she left the hospital.
“Good thing you aren’t headed to LAX,” the driver told her.
“Yes, I guess it is,” she agreed. “Can you find another station? If you can’t find music, just turn it off.”
He held up a CD case. “You like country music?”
“Yes.”
The five-hour flight to Maui was spent watching a movie with the sound turned loud enough to blot out the inane conversation of the teenagers in front of her talking excitedly about surfing. Once the plane landed, she stepped into the fragrant Hawaiian air and took a deep, long breat
h. There is no place better on Earth. She rented a red convertible and drove down the coast to the Fairmont Kea Lani hotel.
After checking in, she went for a walk along the shoreline and watched to catch the elusive green flash the moment the sun set. Legend says that those who see the flash are destined to return to Maui. Spotting the momentary streak of green, she closed her eyes and made a wish. When she returned, if she returned, she wished Lucy would be with her. It was only a wish. Artemis had all but abandoned the possibility of a future with Lucy.
She grabbed a sandwich to serve as dinner and returned to her room. She retrieved the phone number she needed and made a call to confirm her meeting tomorrow. She had initially contacted Wolfgang Strang before leaving for Maui. During a somewhat awkward introduction in which she’d given him little insight as to why she wanted to speak with him, the astrophysicist had been ambivalent about meeting with her. Once she’d mentioned dark matter, he’d become intrigued, and they had made tentative plans.
She put the call on speaker and asked him if tomorrow was still convenient. This time Strang sounded almost eager for a get-together. He told her he lived high on the West Maui Mountains and gave her directions but suggested using a GPS to find him. She took a thin book from her suitcase and spent the next few hours reading about the Great Rift.
Around midnight, Artemis heard the call of the ocean and decided to stretch her legs. The night air was cool and windy as she strolled along the beach. Red flags were posted, so she thought better of going for a swim. She passed a group of women sitting on a small bluff and returned their waves but continued her solitary walk. She sought the feeling of peace that Maui always bestowed on her to return, but Pele seemed impervious to her needs. Artemis felt empty and alone and returned to the hotel having failed to escape the darkness consuming her.
Not yet adjusted to the time shift, Artemis awoke before six and ordered breakfast. From the balcony she could see a few early risers strolling along the beach and even a couple of intrepid surfers. She took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of the ocean. Cab had accused her of being a pirate that last day in Lake Isabella; maybe he’d been right.
The route up Mauna Kea was dotted with small towns and friendly people. She used the GPS to find Strang’s house once the terrain became thick with foliage and the few side roads were unmarked. The air grew cool the higher she went. She knew she was going to need the sweater she’d tossed into the car. After a difficult search, she found the bungalow set well back from the main road. It had a spectacular view of the southern tip of the island with its lava fields and rugged landscape and an endless ocean beyond.
Strang strolled out to greet her, wearing shorts and a flowery shirt. He was younger than she’d expected. He didn’t much resemble the professorial man in the magazine picture. He looked rather like that guy’s ne’er-do-well brother or a young, tanned Doc from Back to the Future. He had definitely gone native, but the inquiring look in his eyes remained.
“You found us,” he said, giving her a hearty handshake and a broad smile. “It was a challenge, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, the road was rather difficult,” she admitted.
He put his hand gently on her back and ushered her forward. “Well, come in. Come in, and let’s see if it was worth your trouble.”
He was island friendly, but Artemis detected something behind the smiles. When his wife appeared, frail and wan, Artemis understood what she had sensed. The woman wore a bandana over what was left of her hair from chemotherapy. She asked if Artemis would like something to drink and then left their guest to visit with her husband.
“I’m sorry,” Artemis said as she sat down.
Strang nodded. “Thank you. Willa is a fighter, but the road is as you said ‘difficult.’ So why have you come to me, Miss Artemis Andronikos? That’s quite a name.” He laughed lightly. “Victorious Goddess of the Hunt. I must say, you possess the bearing of such a name. You are an uncommon beauty.”
“Please, call me Temmie,” she said, blushing a bit.
“And you must call me Wolf.” He settled back in a rattan chair on the lanai, the whole of the Pacific behind him in the distance. He watched her take in the view, noting the slight slouch in her bearing that bespoke an inner sadness she managed otherwise to conceal.
“I am interested in dark matter.”
“Really? I assume you’ve read the scant literature on the subject. Possibly that dreadful book by Higgs.” He had a twinkle in his eye. “It’s all worthless, unfortunately; pure speculation by scientists who know nothing about dark matter.”
Artemis knitted her eyebrows. “I was hoping you could enlighten me. What kind of matter is it?”
He raised an arm and twirled his hand. “Let’s start right there. Dark matter is not an object, Temmie, like oatmeal or a cat. Dark matter is a process. According to my colleagues whose dissertations you have read, dark matter is a term used to describe all of the unknowns about the universe.” He leaned forward in his chair. “What accounts for the vast emptiness of space? Dark matter. What is driving the universe to expand at an increasing velocity? Dark matter.” He grinned mischievously. “Can you grasp what I mean?”
She gave him a rueful grin. “Yes. You do not think too highly of your colleagues.”
“Ha!” he laughed. “Exactly.”
Artemis had to chuckle. “Then what about dark matter fascinates you?”
He liked Artemis and was pleased to see her smile. She was smart and direct, and she was obviously troubled but not bowed. He took her into his study and showed her the latest pictures of the Great Rift. He asked her if she could detect the small change at the edge of the rift when comparing pictures taken months apart.
“When did the change first appear?” she asked.
“Nearly six months ago. I first saw it last spring. About the time my wife became sick and your brother Ichabod died.”
Artemis was stunned. “You know about that?”
“I am a researcher, Temmie, a good one. The name Andronikos is not common. I agreed to meet with you because we may be on the same quest.”
She stared at him with questioning blue eyes. “You think there is a connection between the Great Rift and what my brother experienced before he died?”
He scratched the stubble at the end of his chin. “I do.” His eyes indicated amusement at her incredulity.
“The Harbinger!” Artemis said in a soft voice.
“Harbinger, schmarbinger!” He flung his arms out in disgust. “You cannot be listening to those religious fools. The change is not a gift from some benevolent voyeur situated on a noctilucent cloud. It is a change, a change in the very nature of consciousness.”
“And dark matter?” Artemis asked.
“Oh, my darling girl, dark matter is the process by which consciousness moves. It is the connective process. It is the mind of the Creator.”
Artemis studied Strang’s expression just to be sure he wasn’t putting her on. She saw sincerity amid the mischief. He placed a finger on the photograph and drew a circle around the blurry image. Then he turned and looked directly into her eyes.
“We are what the mind of the Creator makes us, Temmie, and through fourteen billion years, the Creator has made improvements. He has, you might say, enriched His thought. I believe He made a change recently, a profound change. It has expanded us just like the universe itself is expanding.”
“So, everything has changed.” Artemis summarized his theory. She felt the truth of it. Change. The Harbinger was more than she had imagined.
Strang leaped to his feet and lifted her in the air. “You understand. You do. I can see it in you.” He set her down and collected himself. “Not even my beloved Willa understands, but you…you, brilliant goddess that you are, you comprehend what I am saying.”
*
Willa was pleased that Artemis stayed for dinner. She served a salad of Hawaiian fruits and a scrumptious broiled sea bass. Willa ate little but smiled much, and Strang drank deep of hi
s wife’s happiness. After dinner, Willa tried once again to retreat but Wolf suggested a game of dominoes, hoping to get Willa to stay, and to her husband’s happy surprise she agreed.
“Are you familiar with the story of Phaeton?” Willa asked their guest.
“Yes. He drove the chariot that carried Helios across the sky.”
“Marvelous!” Wolfgang said. “You are indeed worthy of your name, Miss Andronikos.”
His wife chuckled. “My husband is fond of the ancient Greeks. Most especially the gods and goddesses who interacted with us mere mortals. I should warn you, Temmie. Wolf talks to them—although, I don’t believe they’ve ever answered.”
Strang shook his head. “I find more wisdom in myth than in either the science or religions of our time,” he explained. “Today, we are divided between two views of the world, each intolerant of the other. And each wrong, I might add, in their interpretation of the great mysteries of life.”
Artemis shuffled the dominoes, but Willa begged off another game. She looked very tired, and her pain was evident as she rose from her chair. She said her goodbye to Artemis and leaned against her husband as he guided her from the room. Artemis took out her cell phone and looked for a message. Seeing none, she tapped Lucy’s name and sent a simple text.
Missing you. Temmie.
For an instant, she felt herself there with Lucy, watching her sleep.
Strang invited Artemis to accompany him to Oahu for his weekly visit to the Keck Observatory the next day. He offered to have her stay with them for the night, but she declined, explaining she preferred to sleep to the sound of the ocean while she was in Maui. He took her hand and walked her to the car.
“Until tomorrow, my dear Temmie,” he said and waved as she drove away. He looked into the darkening sky and wondered what had drawn this interesting young woman into his orbit. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Dark matter, of course.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy sat watching her daughter sleep. She listened to her rhythmic breathing, and she tucked the furry pink coverlet around Angie’s legs. She felt better knowing Angie was going to recover from the stroke with few if any residual problems. The panic was less, but the guilt was not. She could not forgive herself for having left her little girl, for not being there when the child needed her most. If God wanted to punish her for going to Rome, for loving Temmie, He couldn’t have picked a more painful penance.