by Ted Dekker
“I’m not into faith, remember?” she said.
“Maybe now would be a good time to start.”
He’d have to get used to the horns again—they were as ubiquitous as road markings here. The main roads were properly marked, but they acted as guides more than restrictions. The position of a car and the volume of its horn were nine-tenths of the law: The first and the loudest had the right of way. Period.
He hit his horn now, to warm up to the idea. Another horn went off nearby, like mating calls. No one seemed to mind. Except Kara.
“Yes?” Kara said.
“Yes. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
Tom drove into the city. A brown haze hung over towering midtown skyscrapers. In the distance, the sky train. Dilapidated taxis, held together with baling wire, and Mercedes crowded the same surface streets with motorcycle taxis and Tuk-Tuks—a three-wheeled cross between a car and a motorcycle.
And bicycles. Lots of bicycles.
Thais went about their daily business, some teetering along on bicycle carts that would unfold into frying stands, others piloting dump trucks, still others strolling in the orange garb of monks.
He cracked the window. It was early afternoon—the smells of the city were nearly overpowering. But to Tom they were intoxicating. There was exhaust, there was a touch of stale water, there was fried noodles, there was . . .
This could easily be the Philippines. Home. Ten years ago, one of the rascals on the street might have been him, mixing it up with the locals and then stopping by a stand for some satays with peanut sauce.
Tom felt a knot rise in his throat. It was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in years.
They drove in reflective silence for twenty minutes. Kara stared out the windows, caught up in her own thoughts. A soupy nostalgia overtook them both.
“I miss this,” Kara said. “It almost feels like a dream. Maybe we’re both dreaming.”
“Maybe. Exotic.”
“Exotic.”
They passed the Phra Khanong district midafternoon and headed out into the delta. The city sounds faded behind them. The concrete gave way to a carpet of trees and rice paddies known as the Mae Nam Chao Phraya delta—the rice bowl of Asia—a hot, steamy, fertile sea of vegetation infested with insects and creatures rarely seen.
Like a primordial soup from which would come the most deadly virus the earth had ever known.
“It’s hard to believe we’re actually here,” Tom said.
“Halfway across the world in twelve hours. Nothing like the jet age. Turn left up here. It should be about a mile up the road.”
Tom turned onto a private road that led into an area hidden by heavy jungle growth. The asphalt was black, freshly poured. There was no other traffic.
“You sure this is right?” Tom asked.
“No. Just following the clerk’s directions. It’s kind of . . . spooky.”
Good word.
The complex rose out of the delta like a wraith in the night. The jungle had been cleared directly ahead. There was a gate. Two or three guards. Manicured lawns. And a massive white building that stretched across several acres. Behind the building, the jungle reclaimed the land.
Tom stopped the car a hundred yards from the front gate. “This it?”
“Raison Pharmaceutical.” She nodded at a sign he’d missed to their left.
He cracked his door, set one foot out, and stood. The jungle screeched around him—a billion cicadas screaming their warning. The humidity made breathing hard.
He plopped back down, eased the door closed, started the car moving again. They rolled up to the gate without speaking.
“This is it,” Tom said. A guard dressed in a gray uniform complete with shiny pistol approached them. “Why are you so quiet?”
“What am I supposed to say, ‘Let’s go back. This doesn’t feel right to me. Please don’t do anything stupid’?”
“Please, this is me,” he said, rolling down the window.
“Exactly.”
The guard glanced at the license plate and stepped forward. “What is your business?”
“We’re here to see Monique de Raison. Or Jacques de Raison. It’s very important we see them.”
The man scanned his clipboard. “I have no scheduled arrivals. What is your name?”
“Thomas Hunter.”
He flipped one page and lowered the board. “You have an appointment?”
Kara leaned over. “Of course we do. We’ve just arrived from the United States. The Centers for Disease Control. Check again; we have to be there.”
“And your name?”
“Kara Hunter.”
“I have neither on my list. This is a secured facility. No one in without a name on the list.”
Tom nodded patiently. “No problem. Just give them a call. Tell them that Thomas Hunter is here from the CDC. It’s absolutely imperative that I see Monique de Raison. Today. We didn’t fly all the way from Atlanta for nothing.” He forced a grin. “I’m sure you understand.”
The man hesitated, then walked into the booth.
“What if he doesn’t let us in?” Tom asked.
“I knew this would happen.”
“Maybe we’d be more convincing in a Mercedes.”
“Here comes your answer.”
The guard approached. “We have no record of a visit today. Tomorrow there will be an event at the Sheraton Grande Sukhumvit. You may see her then.”
“I don’t think you understand. I need to see her today, not tomorrow. It’s critical, man. Do you hear me? Critical!”
The man hesitated, and for a moment Tom thought he might have made the right impression. He lifted a radio and spoke quietly. The door to the guardhouse opened and a second guard approached. Shorter than the other one, but his sleeves were rolled up over bulging muscles. Dark glasses. The kind who liked American T-shirts with Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo persona stamped across the chest.
“Please leave,” the first guard said.
Tom looked at him. At the other, who’d stopped by the hood. He rolled up the window.
“Any suggestions?”
Kara was biting one of her nails. But she wasn’t demanding that they retreat.
The guard by the hood motioned him to turn the car around.
“How important is it that we stop this announcement of theirs?” Kara asked.
“Depends if you think we can really change history.”
“We’re past that,” she said. “The answer is yes. Focus, remember? This is real. That’s why we’re here.”
“Then it depends on whether stopping the announcement will change history.” The guard was starting to get a tad animated. Tom reached over and locked the car. “Depends on whether they actually plan on shipping the vaccine tomorrow.”
“Can we assume anything else? This isn’t a game we can play over if we lose the first time.”
A fist rapped on the window. The guards were both motioning vigorously now. The one with the bunched biceps put his hand on his holster.
“They wouldn’t kill an American, would they?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know, but I think this is getting out of hand, Thomas. We should leave.”
Tom grunted and slammed the steering wheel. Maybe they were powerless to change history. Maybe they were the two martyrs who’d tried to change history but got gunned down at the gates to Raison Pharmaceutical. Or maybe changing history required extraordinary measures.
“Thomas . . .”
The guards were slamming his hood now. “Hold on.”
He sprang the latch, shoved the door open, and rose from the car.
Both guards went for their guns.
“Whoa.” Tom lifted his hands. “Easy. I just want to talk. Just one thing, I promise. I’m on official business with the United States government. Trust me, you don’t want to hurt me.”
“Get back in the car, sir!”
“I’m getting back in, but I want to say something first. The Centers for Disease C
ontrol has just learned that the vaccine this company is planning to announce tomorrow has a fatal flaw. It mutates under extreme heat and becomes a virus that we believe may have far-reaching implications.”
He walked toward the short one with the big muscles. “You have to listen to me!” He spoke loudly and slowly. “We are here to stop a disaster. You two, Fong and Wong, will go down as the two imbeciles who didn’t listen up when the Americans came to warn Monique de Raison. You have to tell her this!”
Both guards were stepping back, guns in hand, intent but clearly caught off guard by his audacity. Oddly enough, Tom wasn’t terribly frightened by their guns. Yes, they had his stomach twisted in a knot, but he wasn’t scrambling back in terror. The whole scene reminded him of the hillside lesson Tanis and Palus had given him. Taking on a hundred Shataiki with a few well-placed kicks.
He looked from one guard to the second and resisted a strong impulse to try the kick he’d learned from Tanis—the double-back kick that had at first looked impossible. He could do it too. They were perfectly placed. Saliva gathered in his mouth. He knew he could pull it off. Just like that: one, whack, twist; two, whack. Just like Tanis had taught him. Before they could react.
’Course, it was crazy. And what if, just what if, that had been only a dream? He would be doing flips in his mind but falling flat on the asphalt here in reality.
“You hear me?” he asked. “I have to talk to someone.”
They stood their ground, crouched, ready for anything.
“Do you guys like Jet Li?”
“Back!” screamed the one with biceps. “Back, back!”
“Listen to me!” Tom yelled in a sudden fit of frustration.
“Back, back, back, or I shoot!” Biceps screeched.
Tom blinked at the man. And what would Tanis say to that?
“Okay. Relax.” He turned to climb back in the car.
Perfect.
Right now, at this very moment, the situation was perfect for that particular kick. If they shot, they would hit each other. If he just . . .
Tom planted his left hand on the hood, scissored into the air. Whack, gun, whack, head. Continue the motion with the momentum, pirouette.
That was one. The other one stared with wide eyes.
A gun boomed.
Missed him.
Whack, gun. Whack, head.
Land. Perfect.
Tom stood by the hood, stunned by what he’d just done. Both guards lay on their backs. Biceps had shot harmlessly. He had done this? His heart pumped with adrenaline. He felt like he could take on the flock if he had to.
“Thomas!”
Kara. Yelling.
He ran for the guardhouse, found the button that opened the gate. Pushed it. Motors whirred, and the gate ground slowly open. He bolted for the car.
Kara stared at him with round eyes.
“Hold on!” he yelled and shoved the stick into drive. He pointed the car for the gap in the gate. They roared toward the white building.
Immediately another problem presented itself. A round hole in the windshield. Bullet hole.
Kara slumped down. “They’re firing!”
Four more guards had materialized from the main building. They had rifles and they were firing.
Reality crashed in on Tom. He whipped the wheel to his right and punched the accelerator. The car veered into gravel. Spun through a wide donut. Two more bullets cracked through the back window.
“Hold on!”
The moment the tires regained traction on the asphalt, the Toyota surged forward. Through the gate. By the time they passed the Raison sign, they were doing 120 kph.
Tom kept the accelerator pegged until they hit the intersection. Traffic on the main road limited his speed. It took another mile for his heart to match pace.
Kara blew out a long breath. “What was that?”
“Don’t start. It was crazy, I know.”
“No argument.”
It appeared that they’d made a clean getaway.
“What exactly did you do back there?” Kara asked.
“I don’t know. I really didn’t plan on going after them like that. It just happened. We had to get in; they were in the way. You seemed to think we should—”
“No, I’m talking about that kick. I’ve never seen you do anything like that.”
That fact had lingered in his own mind for the last five minutes.
“I haven’t done anything like it. Not here.”
“Not here, meaning . . . ?”
“Well, actually . . . it’s something Tanis taught me.”
“In the other reality?”
“It feels almost like instinct. Like my brain has learned a few new tricks and is using them automatically. They say we could walk through walls if we used all of our brainpower, right? Crazy, huh?”
She stared ahead, awed. “No, not crazy. It actually makes sense. In this wacky dream thing of yours. And we’re treating them like they’re both real, remember?”
“So what I learn there, I can use here. And what I learn here, I can use there.”
“Evidently. Not just knowledge but skills.” They drove in silence for a few seconds. “Now what?”
“Now we get a room at the Sheraton Grande Sukhumvit and hope we can make an impression on Monique de Raison tomorrow.”
“Maybe you can woo her,” Kara said.
“Woo her?”
“Never mind.”
Tom sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What we need is for you to sleep. And dream.”
He nodded. “Sleep and dream.”
16
Thomas! wake up. Open your mouth.”
Thomas felt the cool juice run down his throat. He jerked up, sputtered, and spit a lump of something from his mouth.
“Easy, lad.”
Tanis grinned beside him, yellow fruit in hand. Michal stood beside him.
“What happened?” Tom asked.
“You passed out,” Tanis said. “But a bite of fruit and you came back quickly enough.”
“You are weak; perhaps the effects of your fall in the black forest still linger,” Michal said. “How do you feel now?”
“Fine.”
He felt a bit disoriented, but otherwise well enough. He’d dreamed of Bangkok. Fighting two guards. Then retreating to a luxurious hotel called the Sheraton Grande Sukhumvit where he and Kara had taken a suite, walked the streets, and finally collapsed into bed, groggy with jet lag.
Tom shook his head.
“How long was I . . . out?”
“Only a few minutes,” Tanis said.
Yet he’d dreamed of a whole day in Bangkok.
Two thoughts rang through his head. One, he had to treat both worlds as if they were real. Two, he had to get more information.
Which meant he might have to retrace his steps to the black forest after all. With Tanis’s help. Unless he could persuade Michal to help him out.
What was he thinking? He could never go back to the black forest!
“Please,” Tanis said, handing Tom the fruit, “have some more.”
Tom bit deep into the fruit and immediately felt the nectar flow into his gut. He bit again and again and suddenly realized he’d lost himself in the process. He had already finished the fruit.
“Did . . . did you dream?” Tanis asked.
“Dream?” Tom stood.
“Just now, did you dream of the histories?”
Tom glanced at Michal, who arched a fuzzy eyebrow.
“I was only out for a few seconds,” Tom said.
“Dreams do not keep time,” Tanis said.
There was no hiding it from the leader.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I believe I did dream.”
“Did you go to the history books and read about Napoleon?”
What was Michal thinking of this exchange? Tanis wasn’t hiding anything. No, of course not. He was purely innocent.
“No,” Tom said. “Why would I do that?”
<
br /> “Have you forgotten, man? I will teach you how to fight, and you will open my mind to the histories. It was our understanding!”
“It was?”
“It was my understanding. What do you think, Michal? Since Thomas Hunter seems to have unusual access to the histories and I am a very gifted fighter, I thought we would make a wonderful team, he and I. If we ever were to mount an expedition to the black forest, Thomas could be very helpful. Yes?”
The Roush frowned thoughtfully. “Hmm . . .”
Tom assumed that Michal would disapprove outright. But he didn’t .He seemed in some way subservient to Tanis.
“It’s an interesting idea, the two of you pairing up. But the expedition is a foolish notion on all counts. It would be like seeking a cliff to lean over. Are you so interested in seeing whether you will fall?”
“Then at the very least, Thomas could teach me more of the histories,” Tanis said. “I understand why you won’t .As you say, interfering with us is not your job, yes? The histories could interfere, you say. Understood. But Thomas Hunter is not a Roush. And the fact that he’s here, having these dreams, must mean Elyon has willed it. Perhaps caused it! It’s only natural that we form this bond. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Innocence clearly didn’t compromise the man’s intelligence.
“The histories are oral for a reason,” Michal said cautiously. “I would think very carefully before tempting that tradition.”
Tom stepped forward. “Actually . . .” He stopped, remembering his promise to the Roush.
Michal eyed him. “Yes, Thomas? Actually what?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, there were a few questions that I had about the histories too. I seem to be stuck in a certain time, just before the Great Deception. In my dreams, my sister and I seem to think we might be able to prevent the virus from being released. We think that may be our purpose. Maybe you could help me to do this. Make any sense?”
“No. Not really,” Michal said. “How can you stop something that has already happened? You see, these dreams are not helpful. They are keeping you in a state of disorientation. They might actually be the cause of your continued amnesia. You should be focusing on other things now, not trivia from the distant past. Does that make sense?”
“You’re right, you’re right. Perfect sense, but in my dreams it doesn’t make perfect sense.”
