Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy

by T. R. Williams

  “Well done,” Simon said. “I am hoping to leave India shortly and return to the Château. There are too many people here and as many odors to match. Please plan to join me at the Château a fortnight after Freedom Day. We will all celebrate our triumph.”

  “Bueno.” Dario ended the call.

  Simon continued to gaze at the empty space where Dario’s image had been projected. He was still concerned about Victor’s duplicity. Was he working on another project with Dario? Was that project Era itself? Simon’s eyes narrowed. Era was not formed to be led by anyone other than him. He was not about to give up his chair at the head of the table.

  Simon was so close to achieving his goals. But recent events were not unfolding as smoothly as he’d hoped. Andrea seemed to be floundering, and somewhere close by were the books he so desperately wanted. At the moment, he needed the reach of Era; he needed Dario and Victor to clear the way for Andrea’s success. But Deya’s riddle still barred his way to claiming his greatest prize. Once he mastered the symbols and possessed their hidden powers, he wouldn’t need Era or its members. His position in history would be secured, the mightiest Hitchlords of them all. In less than a day, he would be humanity’s overlord, able to separate man from God once and for all. That thought put a devilish smile on his face.

  Simon walked back over to the balcony doors to make sure they were completely closed. He hadn’t been jesting with Dario. The odor in the air really was bothering him.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door. “Room service, sir,” a voice called from the corridor.

  Simon went to the door and looked through the peephole. Macliv stood beside the steward and nodded. Simon opened the door.

  “Good evening, sir.” The steward walked in, pushing a table full of Indian snacks, desserts, and some hot spiced tea.

  Simon gestured to the balcony doors. “Is that sandalwood I smell out there?” Simon asked him.

  “Yes, sir,” the steward responded as he arranged the silverware and poured a glass of water. “I am very sorry about that. Many cremation ceremonies are taking place farther north at Manikarnika Ghat as part of the annual two-day puja. It is the grandest ghat of all, the most auspicious along the great Ganges River. You are smelling the smoke from the fires there. If I might suggest, sir, please keep the balcony doors closed, so as to prevent the smell and ashes from entering the room.” The table was now set. “Will there be anything else, sir?” the steward asked. Simon shook his head. “Very good, sir.” The steward turned and left the room.

  Instead of heeding the steward’s suggestion, when he left, Simon went and opened the balcony doors. He stepped outside and looked north toward the burning pyres at Manikarnika Ghat, taking a deep breath, now relishing the smell of the burning sandalwood. Then he made a call on his PCD. “Ready yourselves. We are leaving.”

  49

  You can intellectually justify anything.

  But what you feel is simply what you feel.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  WASHINGTON, D.C., 3:10 P.M. LOCAL TIME, LESS THAN

  27 HOURS UNTIL LIBERTY MOMENT

  “And that’s what we know so far,” Valerie said, as she finished explaining the facts of the case. She took a seat alongside her boss, Dominic Burke, who had summoned her and her team to an emergency meeting of top officials. The largest of the WCF meeting rooms was filled with agents and personnel from the world’s two largest crime-fighting agencies, the WCF and the WSA—the World Security Agency—whose efforts were focused more closely on intelligence gathering than on solving specific crimes. Valerie found the tension in the room almost palpable. While, in theory, the efforts of the two agencies were supposed to complement each other, the reality of the situation was far from it. As with children in a sandbox, ordering them to get along only added to their rivalry. Many of Valerie’s WCF colleagues even groused that the WCF solved the crimes and the WSA took the credit.

  “Are we certain that Freedom Day is the launch date?” a WSA agent asked.

  “That’s what was indicated in Dr. Malikei’s computer files.” Valerie brought up an image of the entry for all to see. “We are working under the assumption that Liberty Moment on Freedom Day, 11:00 P.M. GMT, will be the exact time of deployment.”

  “That’s less than twenty-seven hours from now,” someone said.

  “Everyone has the facts as we know them,” Director Burke announced, standing and addressing the group. “We have made all the information about this case available on the central computer under the case name Vanguard. The head of joint operations has instructed that the WSA step in.” He turned and signaled to another dark-haired man seated at the large conference table. “All of you know Director Ramplet of the WSA. He will be taking the lead in the investigation. The WCF will be operating in a consulting and support role from this point forward.” Director Burke took his seat next to Valerie, as Director Ramplet stood to address the group.

  “As all of you know, we face an urgent threat,” Ramplet began. He wore a well-tailored black suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. He stood with his hands behind his back and spoke confidently. “We thank the WCF for their efforts thus far.”

  Logan leaned over and whispered to Valerie, “There’s something I don’t trust about this guy.”

  “None of us likes him very much, either,” she said. “My boss especially. Ten years ago, Ramplet and Burke were working for the same division of the WSA. Ramplet somehow got a promotion that should have gone to Burke. Ramplet eventually pushed him out of the way, and that’s when Burke came over to the WCF.” She turned and leaned over to Burke himself, who was sitting on the other side of her. She whispered, “Sir, they can’t just take this investigation away from us. No one knows the facts and the players better than we do.”

  “This is not up to me, Val,” Burke answered softly. “Three dead Council members, a blown-up plantation house, and a dead scientist. Not to mention allowing yourself and a civilian to be kidnapped. The whole thing hasn’t exactly instilled a load of confidence in the WCF. And on top of that, you’re telling us that a substantial portion of the world’s population might die in less than twenty-seven hours? The WSA is bigger than we are and has access to more resources than we do. It’s tough to argue the decision.”

  Valerie didn’t have a response. She turned her attention back to the discussion getting under way in the meeting room.

  “There isn’t sufficient time to create an antidote and then introduce it into the population,” Sylvia was saying. “At this point, our only option is to stop these people from delivering the activation frequency. Which brings us to the delivery mechanism.”

  “Where is the mini-device the WCF found?” Ramplet asked.

  “It is secured in our lab,” Valerie said.

  “It should be turned over to the WSA at once,” Ramplet instructed.

  Valerie and Burke exchanged frowns.

  “Perhaps they have installed many of these small EFME devices around the world,” one WSA scientist proposed.

  “I doubt that,” Goshi answered. “These mini-devices have a very limited range. Maybe about one-hundred meters. There would have to be millions of them installed to provide adequate global coverage.”

  “Is it true that the frequency will penetrate walls and buildings?” asked another WSA scientist, portly, bald, and with an Italian accent.

  “Yes,” Sylvia said. “We had to use a Faraday isolation chamber to contain the waves. So even if people stay indoors, they will not be protected from it.”

  “We will have to evacuate people to underground facilities,” said an American WSA scientist wearing a green bow tie. “At least one hundred meters underground.”

  “There’s no time,” Ramplet interrupted impatiently. “And we don’t have enough underground facilities to protect billions of people. Focus on stopping the pulse.”

  “The wave pulse would have to come from the sky and be capable of engulfing the entire planet,” the Italian WSA scientist assert
ed. Murmurs of both agreement and dissent came from the others, as they began to discuss the most likely delivery system among themselves. “The most logical place would be the GCC here in your own country!” the scientist now shouted, trying to be heard over the rising din. The conversations trailed off as people redirected their attention to the Italian scientist. “The GCC has access to every communications device in the world.” Many in the group nodded in agreement.

  “What’s the GCC?” Logan asked Alex.

  “That’s the Global Communications Center located in Denver,” Alex explained. “It controls all the PCDs around the world via satellites.”

  Meanwhile, Logan overheard Valerie, Sylvia, and Goshi intently discussing something. They had been for some time, it seemed.

  “Excuse me,” Valerie said then, out loud. “Excuse me!” she yelled. The room went quiet. “We think a better choice for delivering the frequency discharge would be the Akasha Vault,” she said in clear and certain voice. “The Vault’s satellites are newer and cover the same land area as the GCC.”

  All eyes in the room were now turned to Valerie. All except Ramplet’s. His, Logan noticed, were fixed on him.

  “But the GCC has control of many more geosynchronous orbitals than the Vault,” said a gray-haired French scientist, whose wire-framed glasses were balancing on the tip of his nose. “It has more than three hundred satellites in its network and is directly linked to the Solar Aggregation Network. The Vault has less than half that amount. The GCC satellites are the only ones that can sustain a pulse of that magnitude for the necessary five seconds. Besides, the GCC is more reliable; much of the technology at the Akasha Vault is still experimental.”

  “Yes,” the Italian scientist agreed. “The security at the Vault is also much heavier. There are more than one hundred WSA agents stationed there permanently. And no one gets by them.” The sound of muffled laughter could be heard; the statement was clearly a jab at the WCF.

  “The Akasha Vault satellites are just as powerful,” Sylvia said. “Each of them is powered by a Tesla coil.”

  The French scientist interrupted. “The coils are completely untested and unproven. They have never been pushed to that threshold, and it would be folly to expect them to perform at that level.”

  “I disagree,” Sylvia said emphatically. “The Vault satellites’ photonic link to the ground station could easily flood the earth with the precise frequency. The GCC would require more programming to burst the proper wavelength frequency. In addition, it has three major locations, whereas the Vault only has one.”

  “All the more reason to use the GCC,” a WSA agent said. “More sites, more places to deploy from.”

  Various side discussions had started once again; the Vault proposal, it seemed, was being dismissed. In all of it, Ramplet remained aloof. His eyes were still on Logan.

  “Why does the director keep looking at me?” Logan whispered to Valerie.

  Valerie snuck a quick peek and saw that Logan was correct. She shook her head, unsure. Then she returned her attention to the room, where the noise level was escalating again. She could tell the scientists were dismissing Sylvia’s Vault proposal. “Wait,” she said, “you’re making a—”

  “We’re going with the GCC as the main target,” Ramplet suddenly cut in, pulling rank. The room went quieter for him than it had for Valerie. “We will notify our team at the Vault to stay alert for any suspicious activity, but we will send the primary teams to the three major GCC sites. Let’s get going, people; time is not our friend.” With that announcement, the meeting was over.

  Valerie, Logan, and the other team members stayed where they were in the corner of the meeting room. Soon they were joined by Burke, who had just finished speaking to Ramplet.

  “It’s the Vault,” Sylvia said, clearly frustrated. “It would take too long to program the GCC, and you would have to sync all three locations.”

  “I agree with you,” Valerie said. She turned to Burke. “Come on, boss. These guys have been on the case for only an hour. We’ve been there since the start.”

  “There’s nothing I can do, Val,” Burke reminded her. “They have jurisdiction; my hands are tied.”

  “So now we’re just observers on this operation?” Valerie persisted. “Let’s send an observation team to the GCC and one to the Vault. We’ll send a few small teams to the GCC sites, Alex and Goshi will stay here at the lab, and Sylvia and I will go to the Vault.”

  “Me, too,” Logan added. “I’m going to the Vault.”

  Burke didn’t respond. He gave Valerie a long, hard look.

  “We’ll just be observing,” she pressed. “If we get to the Vault and nothing happens, that’s great news for everyone. On the other hand, if something happens . . . Are you going to let Director Ramplet steal this from you the way he stole the top job at WSA ten years ago?”

  “Cheap shot,” Burke said.

  “It’s all I’ve got left, sir.”

  Burke looked around the conference room, where only a handful of WSA personnel remained, then turned back to Valerie. “Better safe than sorry. Take who you need; I’ll get it cleared.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Valerie said. “We won’t let you down.”

  “Burke,” a voice called out. Everyone turned to see Ramplet walking over to them. “I’d like to meet your team.”

  Burke obliged and introduced everyone. As Ramplet shook people’s hands, Logan couldn’t help but notice the large black diamond embedded in the thick gold ring he was wearing.

  “On behalf of the WSA, I would like to thank each of you for your efforts,” Ramplet said. “Especially you.” He turned to Logan. “It is heartening to see a citizen get so passionately involved. I’m sure your parents would be happy to see that you’ve followed in their footsteps.”

  “Thank you, Director,” Logan said hesitantly. He still didn’t trust him.

  “Please,” Ramplet said, waving a hand, and flashing that black diamond ring once more. “You can call me Victor.” He smiled. “The WSA has arrived, and we’ll take it from here. Once again, I thank you for your work on this case.” Before the director turned to leave, he addressed Valerie, “And Agent Perrot, make sure you get that frequency device to us.”

  50

  A scientist endeavors to explain the hows of reality.

  A theologian endeavors to explain the whys of reality.

  A master teacher endeavors to live reality.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  BANARAS, INDIA, 4:30 A.M. LOCAL TIME,

  24 HOURS UNTIL LIBERTY MOMENT

  “What a sight!” Mr. Perrot was looking at a tall domed temple building illuminated against the night sky. Two other structures stood to its left, and many roaring fires cast an eerie glow over the grounds below. Mr. Perrot and Jogi had hired a boat to take them along the river to Manikarnika Ghat. Their earlier attempts to enter the ghat had been thwarted by the massive crowds gathered there for the almost two-day-long puja and prayer. Now, though, the crowds had dwindled, and the waters of the Ganges were calm. From the boat, Mr. Perrot could see the steep stairs that led up to the three haggard old buildings, which seemed to teeter on the banks of the river. Jogi had told him that these ornately decorated stone structures had once been the jewel of the river.

  “I had no idea of the atmosphere of this place,” Mr. Perrot mused. “I feel as if I’ve traveled back in time to a world long forgotten.”

  The light hum of the boat’s motor could be heard as they glided across the still waters of the river. It was early morning, and the sun was about to rise. The dark of night was giving way to the dawn.

  “Deya described the river to me many times,” Mr. Perrot said. “I wish she was here to share my pleasure in seeing it for the first time.”

  Jogi nodded. “It has been this way since anyone can remember,” he said. “The pyres of Manikarnika Ghat burn relentlessly day after day, night after night.”

  “Do they ever stop?”

  “No. This is a
n endless place,” Jogi said. “The fires have liberated countless souls over the centuries. Look at the ash that accumulates; look how it covers everything around here. Look at the boats, stacked high with wood. They deliver the fuel to keep the pyres going. Behind the temple, a long line of bodies waits to be cremated at this auspicious site.”

  “Amazing continuity of effort over such a long period of time,” Mr. Perrot remarked.

  Jogi pointed to the middle structure of the three haggard buildings near the riverbank. “See that clock high up in the tower?”

  Mr. Perrot looked where Jogi pointed. It was difficult to see through all the smoke and ash that rose into the sky. “I fear the clock is incorrect,” he said. “It says six o’clock.”

  “It is always six o’clock at Manikarnika,” Jogi said. “It is said that time stands still at the moment of death.”

  Their boat was getting closer to the riverbank, and the smell of the burning wood was becoming stronger. Mr. Perrot sat silently and reflected on the many sights up and down the mystical river. It was as if the Great Disruption had not touched this place.

  “There are more than eighty ghats on the Ganges, most with their own temples and touchstones,” Jogi said. “But Manikarnika is considered the holiest of them all. At least, it used to be.”

  “What is the purpose of the clock tower building?” Mr. Perrot asked.

  “It and the structure to its left are the two pilgrim houses.” Jogi paused a moment. He was clearly moved by the sight of those three buildings. “It is a great honor to die at Manikarnika Ghat. Those who are terminally ill stay in the pilgrim houses until they pass. My father took me into one of the houses once. I don’t have the words to describe how I felt. It is not a place for the faint of heart. After the Great Disruption, a very large pyre pit was built in front of the pilgrim house with the clock tower. It is called Shiva Pyre. You can see the large glow it casts over the ghat.”