by Seeley James
Ms. Sabel waited a long time. “That’s it. Drought?”
“Everyone thinks climate change is the next generation’s problem. But it’s here. A global drought has been sneaking up on the world for decades. Sao Paulo has three months of drinking water left. Guatemala’s corn crop failed for the second year in a row. In China, it hits this province and that region for a couple years, then moves to the next area the next few years. Over the last twenty years the affected regions are stitching together and getting hit more frequently. Rainfall on a global scale has been at historic lows for the last seven years. We’re pumping ground water but it’s drying up. A year ago, 31% of farming water came from wells. This year, 53%. When will the wells run dry?”
“I don’t get it. Why not desalinate sea water?”
“Great idea. According to Scripps Institute estimates, California alone pumped 63 trillion gallons of water from wells in the first half of 2014. Desalinization costs $0.29 per gallon, so California would cost $18 trillion. That’s a third of the Gross Domestic Product for the entire country. China doesn’t have that kind of cash. But even if we could raise the money, it won’t solve the problem in time.”
“What problem?” Ms. Sabel asked.
“Crop failure. Mass starvation. Riots. The breakdown of civilization.”
“But crops haven’t failed.”
“We’re a few years away from the first failures. In California, new wells have to go 2,100 feet or more to find water. It’s worse in China, where dry wells aren’t finding water at any depth. The tectonic plates squeezed out their aquifers a hundred million years ago. But long term, nothing will solve the biggest problem: longer average lifespan.” He blew out a long breath. “The world supports seven billion people right now. The birth rate is slowing, but lifespans are lengthening. If the drought continues at last year’s rate, we have ten years of ground water. If it worsens, predictions are harder to make. How many people can we support? Six billion? Five? The idea behind Element 42 is to hasten the death of the elderly.”
“So you’re willing to watch the Chinese kill millions of their own?”
“What do you think is better?” the ambassador shouted. “Watching the average lifespan in China drop from seventy-five down to sixty-nine, or watching a hundred million men, women, and children starve to death? Is that too Asian for you? What about when the drought reaches critical conditions in India? Venezuela? France? What do you want to see? A billion people starving across the globe? Or fewer Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s patients?”
“You condone their project then?”
“Hell no.” The Ambassador’s face was red and shaking. “No one wants this option. But someone damn well better have it ready when the first well goes dry.”
Pia sank back in her chair. “There has to be a better way.”
“China is a sovereign nation, and this is their option. They think they have it dialed in to where only the very weak will die. Behind closed doors, we’ve lobbied hard against it. But we can’t stop them.”
“Windsor has a cure.” I said because I’m just dumb enough to speak when not spoken to. All eyes turned to me.
“They were an unwitting development team,” the ambassador said. “China needed an expendable lab in case something went wrong. Chapman figured it out and told Wu Fang. They blew the whistle and Chen decided to terminate the Windsor part of the program including senior management. They had what they needed.”
Silence reigned for a moment.
The ambassador looked around at all of us. “Sucks. I know. But there it is. Mass starvation—what do you want to do about it?”
“Why was the FBI Counterintelligence involved?” I asked. “They foil spies, retrieve stolen intelligence, that kind of thing.”
“WMDs are part of their turf,” the ambassador said.
“Wait.” I let everyone stare at me while I tried to corral my thoughts. “Chapman had a Windsor contractor badge at the Bio-Defense Institute, NIH.” I looked at the ambassador. “Holy shit.”
“You’re definitely treading on national security, Stearne.” The ambassador shook his head. “Keep your mouth shut.”
Miguel swiveled his gaze back and forth between us. “What’d I miss?”
Ms. Sabel leaned forward. “Chapman developed Element 42 for the USA,” Ms. Sabel said. “When Chen bought a controlling interest in Windsor, he was, in effect, stealing it.”
“And Violet was trying to cash in on the cure,” the ambassador said.
Everyone slumped in their seats.
After a long group sigh, Ms. Sabel headed for the door. “The Post has several more articles lined up and ready to print. I told President Hunter to get on the right side of history. Now would be a good time.”
CHAPTER 54
A sharp autumn sun exploded from behind a cloud, dazzling the trees at Sabel Gardens when Miguel and I arrived a few days after Guangzhou. Other Sabel agents and staff were climbing out of their cars at the same time. We beheld the pastoral scene like freed inmates. Ms. Sabel had invited us to watch the president’s speech and made a company party out of it.
It was good to see Emily again. Even if she was still gray and weak, and in a wheelchair, at least she was healing. We assembled in the drawing room and chatted among the bookshelves and fireplaces. Standing room only. I barely saw Dhanpal before he bumped into me. Buzzing conversations consumed us both before we could speak and we settled for giving each other nods.
Ms. Sabel started with a few words. She thanked my team for our hard work and sacrifices. She conveyed Nigel’s regards. He appreciated Ms. Sabel’s job offer should his “Highland Adventure” turn out to be unappreciated by Her Majesty. Wu Fang had successfully fled the country with his wife and would soon take up temporary residence at Sabel Gardens. Chen Zhipeng had not yet surfaced in China’s obscure system. Experts were baffled by his disappearance. Through the crowd, she found me and winked. She concluded her remarks with a moment of silence for Carmen.
In that long moment, I put my hand on Miguel’s back, as did the Major.
A giant screen dropped from the ceiling, tuned to a reputable network, and a moment later, President Veronica Lodge Hunter stepped to the podium. She gave the same cover-your-ass speech that politicians have been giving since the founding of Mesopotamia. She pronounced the Chinese solution to drought shocking and praised the Sabel team for following the clues to the bitter end. Carmen received a posthumous Medal of Freedom and Ms. Sabel a public “thank you.” The president concluded with a promise to increase spending on drought relief and open a public debate on solutions.
A couple pretty little things in short-skirted maid outfits served finger sandwiches. I gave the brunette my best sparkling glance and she returned it with a coquettish blush and turn. She came back with a wink, and right when I was about to ask when her shift ended, the worst happened.
Mercury said, Bro, danger—six o’clock.
Tania leaned in from behind me, her nose aimed straight at my next conquest. “He’s married.”
The girl spun on a heel and offered her silver tray of radish and fava beans on brioche to Alan Sabel and Governor Somebody with a big smile.
“I can always count on you to rescue me from those pesky maidens,” I said.
“Boss wants us,” she said, thumbing toward a corner of the room. She paced quickly away.
I followed her into a cozy study off the main room where a fireplace crackled behind Ms. Sabel. Even backlit, she looked like a goddess in a business suit.
I stopped better than an arm’s length away. I felt it was a smart distance in case she was planning to punch me. She wasn’t given to unwarranted violence, but I’d warranted plenty. Tania stood at right angles to us. I stood at parade rest with my eyes fixed on the distant horizon beyond Ms. Sabel.
“I’m glad I chose you two for my special missions group,” Ms. Sabel said. “You work well together.”
Tania raised one brow.
Ms. Sabel turned to her. “Ta
nia, thank you for your bravery and commitment.”
An awkward silence followed and lasted too long.
Tania said, “But we talked about—”
“I will speak to him.” Ms. Sabel said. “Alone.”
Looking like she’d just been slapped, Tania reeled back on her heels, took a deep breath, and powered herself out of the room.
Ms. Sabel gestured for me to sit on a small loveseat. Tense as I was, I took the seat, planted my feet on the floor a little more than hip-distance apart, and put my palms on my knees. I knew my body language looked rigid, but I had concerns floating around my brain about where this conversation was headed.
She stepped to the side of the space and tugged three times on a wide cloth hanging in the corner, then sat in the loveseat opposite. Not your typical ladylike woman, she turned a little to one side, stretched an arm over the loveseat’s back. If I wanted to flee, I’d have to jump her outstretched legs.
“In our business, mental health is a top concern. Giving people weapons and sending them into the field to make life-and-death decisions requires a crystal-clear mind.”
Mercury said, Oh shit, we’re busted. Bet it was Tania. The Major would die defending you. But Tania, she’s had it in for us ever since you messed around with … who was it? Bianca? Bridgette? Brittany? Started with a B, right?
I said nothing.
“There have been instances of people losing a grip on their sanity under the stress and strain of battle and going off on a rampage. I understand a man in General Thompson’s command once ran through an Afghan village killing every man, woman, and child.”
Thompson.
There was a name I didn’t want to hear come up in this conversation.
I stayed silent.
“Naturally, I have concerns about my employees and their mental health.”
Mercury said, C’mon, let’s go. Nice while it lasted but this job’s dead. The good news is nobody gives a damn about a lunatic chef. It’s expected.
My gaze dropped to the floor.
“I’ll resign, ma’am. It has been my pleasure to serve you and Sabel—”
“Be courteous enough to finish the conversation.” She waited for my eyes to travel back up to hers. “I understand your medical records are the subject of lively debates.”
Mercury said, Hold up, homie. Tania never saw your medical records.
I couldn’t hide my shock. “What did the Major tell you about—”
“Jonelle refused to tell me anything about your medical history. When I asked her about your ability to lead special missions, she reminded me that you saved my life more than once. So I called people in the Army. They pointed me to General Thompson. I had a long talk with the General this morning.” She slowed her pace and lowered her voice. “Tell me why a two-star general would spend so much time and energy defending a lowly master sergeant.”
My gaze fell straight to the floor and stayed there. “I saved his life once.”
“Tell me how it happened.”
“The General was giving a speech at the Afghan officer training grounds. He was droning on about the usual crap when I saw the guy. Plain as day. An Afghan major, mumbling his prayers and sweating profusely—classic signs of a suicide bomber. I glanced around and saw what looked like art made from discarded war matériel behind the General’s platform. But inside the artwork the hajji had stacked C4. Enough to kill the General and the first five rows of soldiers. I walked over to the guy and grabbed his hand. Only I picked the wrong hand. He held up the remote detonator in his other hand and started his final death prayer. I shot him in the head.”
She didn’t flinch.
She’d heard it before.
My gaze met hers.
She said, “And?”
“And … nothing. I killed an Afghan major and pissed off a lot of people. Especially a colonel because I let the guy’s brains smear his uniform. But that’s how some officers are.”
Mercury said, That’s it? Are you kidding me? I don’t get any credit? You get in with these high-society babes and all of a sudden I’m nobody? Fuck you, man.
“At what distance did you see the Afghan?”
“That seemed to be a point of controversy during the inquiry. I just recall seeing him between a bunch of other guys. Clear as day.”
“They reconstructed the angles and distances from the video. Seventy-three feet, diagonally through a crowd of soldiers in formation. The C4 was eighty-four feet in front of you, behind a wall of officers.”
“If they say so, ma’am.”
“Four psychological examinations concluded you should be mustered out of the Army. But General Thompson kept ordering new ones until he got the answer he wanted. What was that all about?”
My brunette in the short skirt stepped in the cove with a silver tray. On it were two shot glasses filled with a yellow liquid. The whole kit rattled with her nerves. She pulled a small end table from the corner and placed it to my right, halfway between Ms. Sabel and me. Even her skin vibrated with anxiety. Either she was serving the boss for the first time or hopelessly in love with me. I watched her backside as she leaned over and placed the shot glasses on the table with care. Ms. Sabel watched me watch her.
“Suzette, have you met Jacob Stearne?”
I jumped to my feet, bowed slightly, and extended a hand. The girl turned my way with a hesitant but flirtatious smile.
“He once pulled me from a burning Chevy moments before it exploded,” Ms. Sabel said. “A few days ago he knocked me out of the line of fire a second before a shooter fired. He’s my hero.”
Suzette batted her eyelashes, muttered nice-to-meet-you, and fled, hesitating in the doorway for a last glance over her shoulder. I obliged her with a little see-ya-later finger-wave. She turned and ran.
I retook my seat.
“I like to help people,” Ms. Sabel said. “But now I need your help.”
She waited for me to reply. I didn’t.
“I need you to tell me what the other four psych evaluations said.”
“They’re none of your business, ma’am. I’ll resign.”
She huffed and bit her lip to cut off an angry outburst. “You’re not reading me right, Jacob. I…”
I kept quiet.
With a slow and silent look around the room, she brought her electrifying eyes back to me. “We’ve been on missions together. What happens after I sleep for three hours?”
“You wake up suddenly.”
She rolled her hand, asking for more.
I said, “You wake up screaming.”
“Do you know why?”
“No ma’am.”
“I’m sure the employees have their theories. Thank you for not tossing one of them out there.” She leaned back. “I hear a voice, Jacob. The voice screams at me, wakes me up, tells me to get going, there’s work to be done.” She leaned forward. “Tell me what the other four psych evaluations said about you.”
I couldn’t look at her. I turned to the fire. “They said I hear voices. That I’m mentally unstable, unfit for duty, potentially dangerous.”
The fire crackled and the party in the next room grew louder. She didn’t say anything for a long time.
“Spotting a suicide bomber at seventy-three feet doesn’t sound dangerous to me. And it didn’t sound dangerous to General Thompson.” She leaned over her knees and rubbed her hands together. “If you’re hearing voices, they’re good ones.”
Mercury said, Hey now! Did you hear that? She loves me! This could be the start of something big, you know? We could put the Capitoline Triad back together man. Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva—back for an encore. Oh man, and they do miss the spotlight.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” I said.
“Really?” she said. “Do you know what I have?”
All I could think of was a great body, insomnia, and Ferraris falling out of her lap like breadcrumbs after dinner. “No ma’am.”
“I have a ghost voice.” She dropped her h
ead. “I’m going to tell you something only my dad knows. I’ve never told anyone else. I don’t know if it’s my mother or not. I tell the therapists it’s her, but I was too young to remember her voice. I could be listening to the voice of an ancient goddess or a modern devil or absolute madness. I have no idea. Whoever she is, she yells at me night and day.” Ms. Sabel grabbed my shirt with both hands and yanked me to her. “In Borneo, she was screaming at me, ‘Don’t leave that girl behind. They’re going to kill her.’”
I didn’t know what to say.
“After Carmen’s service, I talked to the priest.” Her voice grew in volume and intensity. “Jacob, I can’t tell you if that priest was real or imaginary.”
Our eyes were an inch apart when she realized where her hands were. She let go of me and looked away.
“The only thing I know is,” she said, “the voice I hear is exactly what your fifth evaluation said about yours: it’s a good voice. Hearing a good voice is not insanity, it’s normal. When the voices tell you bad things—that’s when you go mad.” Ms. Sabel stood up.
Mercury said, Wow, am I the luckiest god or what? Rich people love me and my gang. We don’t bother them with all that guilt and sin and heaven and hell. No, all you need to do is make a few sacrifices—a dove here, a bull there—and we’re good with anything you got going down. Blood sports, slavery, bestiality—have at it, homeslice.
I stood. “Um, I’m not convinced it’s a good voice, exactly.”
“I need your help, Jacob. I’ve never had any family. No one I could confide in. No one to tell my nightmares to. No one who could understand the torment. I need a brother. We’ll be siblings on the edge of sanity.”
In that instant, I thought about life and death and love and admitted that I was in love with Pia Sabel. Not as a romantic lover, but as a sister in the family of damaged souls. We weren’t star-crossed lovers. We were fragments of the same shooting star. Maybe we could keep each other burning a little longer.
“It would be an honor, ma’am.”
She picked up a shot glass and led my eyes to the other one. I took the hint and picked up an aromatic tequila. She lifted hers between us. “To partners in madness.”
