by A. G. Riddle
On the ship’s bridge, he waited, taking in the glowing floodlights scattered across the harbor.
“Hello, brother.”
Desmond turned to find Conner in a merchant marine uniform for a company he didn’t recognize: Terra Transworld. He saw the change in Conner immediately. A rigidity. A military composure. What happened to him?
Desmond was at a loss for words. Conner wasn’t.
He held out his arm. “This way.”
In the conference room, Conner closed the door. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
“I’m not interested in apologies. Give me a reason.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you a reason.” Conner smiled for the first time. “We’ll talk after.”
He led Desmond into the bowels of the ship, past crewmembers covered in grease and carrying provisions. Based on the size of the packages, Desmond suspected they were preparing for a journey. In what looked like a modified locker room, Conner instructed Desmond to put on a biocontainment suit like a CDC employee might wear.
What has he done?
Desmond donned the garment in silence and followed his brother into the ship’s hold, where rows of cubicles spread out. They were framed by metal posts and wrapped in sheet plastic. Yellow lights glowed inside, but the contents of the cubes were obscured. One group of suited personnel was pushing a cart down the aisles, stopping at each cube, ducking through the plastic flaps, and re-emerging with buckets, which they emptied.
Another group pushed a cart piled high with bodies.
“Conner,” Desmond said, breathing hard. He waited, then realized the suit didn’t have a radio.
Conner continued forward, leading him through the giant chamber, like a warehouse within the giant ship. At the other end, they entered a decontamination room. A spray engulfed the suits, then ceased, and they unzipped their suits and doffed them.
“What is this, Conner?”
“I’ll explain everything, Des. It’s why you’re here.”
They climbed a staircase and entered a conference room that was filled with people. A large screen hung on the wall displaying a world map with red glowing dots. A plate glass window on one wall looked down on the hold full of glowing cubes, like Japanese lanterns floating on a concrete sea.
This is wrong.
Conner stood at the head of the room, confident, an almost possessed look in his eyes. His words rang out clear and strong, drawing the attention of every person in the room.
“Soon, the world will change. Stay the course. The coming days will be the most difficult of your life. But when this is finished, the world will know the truth: we saved the entire human race from extinction…”
When his speech was finished, the room cleared, leaving Desmond alone with Conner—except for the two security operatives by the door.
Desmond’s voice came out soft, labored. “What have you done?”
“What had to be done.”
“Conner.” Desmond stared at him. “These are my Rendition subjects, aren’t they? You’ve reused them like they were—”
“They’re terminal, Des.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to—”
“They volunteered.”
“What are you testing?”
“A distribution method.”
“For what?”
Conner nodded to the two security operatives. They left and closed the door behind them.
“Rapture,” he said.
Desmond’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”
“This is the only way.”
“What is it, Conner? What are you and Yuri doing?”
“What must be done.”
“Is it a gene therapy? A retrovirus? Why?”
Conner was silent.
“You’re not going to tell me? The truth and partnership ends here?”
“I’m asking you to let me handle this part of the project. Yuri has trusted me with it. I hope you will too.”
“How many will die, Conner?”
“Very few.” Conner shook his head. “People die every day—for things worth far less than the Looking Glass. Everything has a price. The Looking Glass is worth it.”
Desmond opened his mouth to respond, but closed it. This was not his brother. “What happened to you?” It came out before he could stop it.
“Nothing has happened to me.”
“I feel like I’m talking to a different person, Conner. You even look different.”
“I’ve taken on new responsibilities.”
Desmond squinted at him.
“I’ve been given command of Citium Security. I’ve been training.”
“For what?”
Conner stepped closer to Desmond. “The beginning. It’ll be painful, but don’t worry, Des. I’ll handle it. That’s why we’re a team—you, me, and Yuri. We each have a role to play. I’m asking you to let me play mine.”
Desmond took a step back. “I need some time.”
“Now that is something we don’t have.”
“What do you mean?”
“Things are in motion.”
The words were like an alarm going off in Desmond’s head.
He tried to come up with the words that would bring his brother back—make him see reason. But as Desmond stared at him, he realized that Conner was too far gone. He and his brother were different in one very important way—a way Yuri had understood. Understood and exploited. Conner’s wounds ran deeper than Desmond’s. Both brothers had been burned by the same fire, but Conner had suffered more, longer. He was vulnerable in the same way as Desmond, but on a deeper level. He was capable of being brainwashed. Used like a knife to slice the world open.
For the first time, Desmond saw Yuri’s true nature—and he was afraid. The things the older man had said were true: the world was unfair, and cruel, and needed to change. But his solution was savage. A price too high to pay—for Desmond. But not for Conner.
And Yuri knew that. He had told Desmond as much. His specialty was reading people, knowing what they were capable of and what they would do. He moved the pieces, and he had positioned them perfectly.
Desmond was in a corner. There was only one way out. He had been here once before, on the day Dale Epply came to Orville’s house, escorted him to the garden shed, and gave him the choice: kill or be killed.
He felt the weight of the decision upon him. He knew that his entire future would turn on this moment. He had dedicated his life to the Looking Glass. And Yuri’s plan. But the price… it was too high. He hadn’t signed up for this. He wouldn’t sacrifice innocent lives. He would fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. He would stop Yuri, even if it cost him his brother.
“I understand,” Desmond whispered.
Conner exhaled. “Good. I knew you would, Des. I told Yuri that.”
Desmond made his tone neutral. “What happens next?”
A smile curled at Conner’s lips. “We have some work to do.”
“What kind?”
“Stops to make.”
“Where?”
“Just get Rendition ready. Won’t be long now, brother.”
As he drove away from the pier, Desmond’s mind raced, playing scenarios out.
Confront Yuri. Bad play—Yuri had certainly already prepared for that.
Call the FBI. No. They’d be more likely to lock him up than help him.
Call the Washington Post. That could work. But not if they were starting from scratch. A story like this took time to research and verify, and as Conner had said, time was something he didn’t have. He would need to find a journalist who had already scratched the surface of the Citium conspiracy—someone who would believe him, and publish quickly.
At stoplights, he searched on his phone, typing in the names of Citium subsidiaries and investment vehicles. He stopped short when he found an article published in Der Spiegel by a journalist named Garin Meyer. What the man had done was amazing. He had already connected
many of the Citium subsidiaries, thinking they were some sort of organized crime syndicate—a new breed of twenty-first century high-tech companies colluding to rake in profits. And he was partly right, though those profits were being channeled to a cause—the Looking Glass.
Desmond knew he had to contact Meyer. But first, he had a stop to make.
He knocked on the door, nervous, suddenly unsure of the decision.
The light in the living room flicked on and the door opened, revealing Lin Shaw, still in her work clothes.
“Desmond. What can—”
“We need to talk. It’s important.”
She held the door open for him, closed it after him, but didn’t welcome him deeper into the home.
Desmond decided it was time to roll the dice. “It’s started.”
“It?”
“Yuri. The Looking Glass. They’re proceeding.”
Lin didn’t miss a beat. “How?”
“I think they’re using some kind of pathogen or retrovirus. I couldn’t find out.”
Her eyes went wide—confirming that she didn’t know. “Where will it start?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know, Desmond?”
“Only that they’ve been testing it on a ship.”
She looked away, deep in thought.
“Can you stop him?” Desmond asked.
“No.”
The word was like a gavel coming down. A final judgment. He had expected her to say yes—expected her to offer some solution.
“You have to—”
“Listen to me.”
He exhaled.
“Really listen, okay?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Yuri has been planning this for a very, very long time.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to stop him?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
“Then do something he’ll never expect.”
Desmond shook his head. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Only you know that. Don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone. That’s the only way to ensure it works.”
“You want me to destroy the Looking Glass.”
“No. The Looking Glass is inevitable. It has always existed and must always exist.”
The words shocked Desmond. He felt numb. The world around him stood still.
Lin stepped closer. “What is happening on this planet has happened on billions of worlds before. And it will happen on billions of worlds after ours.”
“What are you saying?”
“The Looking Glass isn’t what you and Yuri think it is. It is a singularity of far more importance.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t find words.
“All that can change is who controls the Looking Glass. If you want to stop Yuri—the Citium—there’s only one way to do it: from the inside.”
He closed his eyes. “Lin, I can’t—”
She opened the door. “Go, Desmond. I have work to do.”
He headed home, but never made it. Halfway there, a thought occurred to him. A vague notion at first, then a hypothesis, then a theory. It seemed outlandish, but it made sense—in context. Avery’s question to him: If I told you something that… changed everything you believe, would you still trust me?
There was only one thing she could have been talking about. But if it was true… what was she? What was she to him?
He dialed her number. She answered on the first ring.
“You asked me if was capable of changing what I believed, deep down.”
“And?”
“I am.”
He could hear shouting in the background, like traders on the floor of the stock exchange. No, they were calling out locations. And company names. Citium company names.
Footsteps, Avery walking away, the voices fading.
“I already have,” he said.
“What are we talking about, Des?”
“People I know. I didn’t—didn’t know what they were capable of.”
“What are they capable of?”
“My turn. What are we talking about, Avery?”
“Meet me.”
“Where?”
“San Carlos. At the airport off Bayshore Freeway. Hangar twenty-five.”
“What’s there?”
“I am.”
“Who else?”
Silence.
“Who do you work for, Avery?”
She exhaled. “I work for the people who can’t defend themselves. All seven billion of them.”
It wasn’t an answer, and he knew he wouldn’t get one.
He drove through the night, at high speed, past the airport gates, to the hangar, where two dozen black SUVs were parked and a throng of trench coat–clad men and women milled about. They stopped him a hundred feet from the hangar and demanded to know who he was and why he was here.
Avery jogged up to them and said, “He’s with me.”
They entered the hangar through a side door. And as Desmond stepped inside, his jaw dropped.
Wooden stands, holding sheets of plywood wrapped with corkboard, sat in a giant horseshoe, and they were covered, inch to inch, with information on the Citium. He saw his own photo. Yuri’s. Conner’s. The name Icarus Capital. Rook Quantum Sciences. Rendition Games. Every company the Citium owned. Their main investment vehicles were listed too: Citium Capital, Invisible Sun Securities. The entire web they had spun was diagrammed here—with red strings and pins showing the connections. And in the middle of the hangar, where an aircraft should have been, at least two dozen agents sat at long tables, bent over laptops or speaking into mobile phones.
“What is this?” Desmond asked.
“A mobile command center.”
“For what?”
“Stopping a terrorist attack.”
Desmond’s head spun. His knees felt weak, like he was on a merry-go-round going two hundred miles an hour.
He was vaguely aware of Avery still standing there.
“They’re not terrorists,” he whispered.
“They?” a man’s voice said, loud in the space. “Don’t you mean we?”
Avery glanced back at him. “Desmond Hughes, this is David Ward, head of the Rubicon Group.”
Ward was a tall man in a black suit with no tie. He nodded to a man in an FBI flak jacket. “Let’s make it official in case it comes back to bite us.”
The other man drew out his FBI badge and flashed it. “Mr. Hughes, I’m Special Agent Reyes with the FBI. You’re under arrest.”
Chapter 51
Avery threw up her hands. “Whoa, whoa, here. Let’s take a step back, J. Edgar. Desmond is here of his own accord. To assist in this investigation.”
She stared at Ward, who stared back. A battle of wills.
Ward broke eye contact first. He took the FBI man by the arm, led him away, and whispered something Desmond couldn’t hear. Then to Avery, he shouted, “He’s all yours, Agent Price.”
Desmond’s fear and shock morphed into rage. “You lied to me.”
Avery didn’t respond. She simply walked past him, out the door of the hangar, and into the night. When he caught up to her, she stared at him with those glowing blue eyes, like a creature ready to defend its ground, a predator just outside its den.
“You lied to me,” he repeated.
Avery cocked her head. “I did? As in, I didn’t tell you my work was part of a much larger project, a covert one? Is that what you mean?”
He said nothing.
“Any idea what that would be like, Des? Not telling the person you’re closest to what you’re really working on?”
“Avery.” He wanted to press his point, but she was right. He had lied to her too. In a strange way, they were mirrors of each other, fighting on opposites sides, two people serving their cause by day, literally sleeping with the enemy by night. And their cold war was about to go hot.
She chewed th
e inside of her lip. “What’s it gonna be? You want to debate water under the bridge, or you want to help us?”
“I want to know what’s really going on.”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I asked first.”
“Okay.” She took a few more steps from the building—and the agents posted around it. “Yuri is moving pieces. Closing down Citium front companies. Transferring money. He’s preparing for an operation. A large one. We think it could be his end game.”
“Those are not crimes.”
“True. But killing two hundred people is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Citium conclave. The last one. When the scientists were slaughtered. Yuri did it.”
“Impossible.” He reeled at the words. It was as if the entire foundation of his knowledge about the Citium had been yanked out from under him. If Yuri had lied about the last conclave, what else had he lied about?
“It’s true. That’s how Rubicon”—she gestured back toward the hangar—“got started. Some of the scientists were worried that a Citium civil war was brewing. They contacted people like David Ward’s predecessor. Hid evidence. And when they all disappeared, Rubicon was born. We’ve been investigating the Citium for thirty years.”
“Yuri didn’t kill those people. He … They were his friends. His colleagues.”
“His competitors, Des. People whose Looking Glass projects would end his own. He’ll do anything to protect his work.”
He knew her words were true, but he grasped for any flaw in her logic, any way to destroy the hideous revelation.
“Lin Shaw,” he said. “She was a Citium member back then. She’s still alive. He didn’t kill her.”
Avery nodded. “Lin Shaw is an anomaly, a piece we don’t understand yet.”
“She’s doing real work, Avery. Trying to find the genetic basis of disease. You’ve seen it. You’ve helped her. Explain that.”
“We can’t. We don’t know what Lin’s end game is, but we think it’s separate from Yuri’s.”
“Then why is she alive? Was she colluding with him back then?”
“We don’t know. Maybe. But we think he’s controlling her somehow. Leverage of some kind.”
