by Ted Dekker
That would be him doing the loose suggesting, Tom realized. Kara’s jaw flexed. For a moment he thought she was going to tell the Frenchman something. Not this time. This was different, wasn’t it? The real deal. Not exactly a college debate.
The Frenchman pressed his point. “This could easily be nothing more than Chicken Little crying that the sky is falling. There is the issue of irresponsibility to be considered.”
“I resent that remark,” Gains said. “On more than one occasion, Tom has proved me wrong. His predictions have been nothing short of astounding. To take his statements lightly could prove to be a terrible mistake.”
“And so could taking his statements seriously,” Theresa said. “Let’s say there is a virus. Fine. When that virus presents itself, we deal with it. Not when it becomes a widespread problem, mind you, but when it first rears its ugly little head. When we have even a single case. But let’s not suggest it’s a problem until we have absolute certainty that it is. Like I said, fear and panic could be much larger problems than any virus.”
“Agreed,” the Spanish delegate said. “It is only prudent.” The man’s collar was too tight, and half his neck folded over his shirt. “Until we have a solution, there is no benefit in terrifying the world with the problem. Especially if there is even the slightest chance that there may not be a problem.”
“Precisely,” the Frenchman said. “We have a virus. We’re working on a way to deal with that virus. We have no real indication that the virus will be used maliciously. I don’t see the need for panic.”
“He has my daughter,” Raison said. “Or does that no longer concern you?”
“I can assure you that we’ll do everything we can to find your daughter,” Gains said. He glared at Louis Dutêtre. “We’ve had a team on the ground at Svensson’s laboratories for several hours.”
“We should get a report at any time,” Phil Grant said. “Our deepest sympathies, Mr. Raison. We’ll find her.”
“Yes, of course,” Dutêtresaid. “But as of yet, we don’t know that Svensson had anything to do with this understandably tragic kidnapping. We have hearsay from Mr. Hunter. Furthermore, even if Svensson is somehow connected to her disappearance, we have no reason to believe the kidnapping in any way predicts a malicious use of a virus—a virus we haven’t proved to be lethal, I might add. You’re making a leap of faith, gentlemen. Something I’m not prepared to do.”
“The fact of the matter is, we have a virus, deadly or not,” Gains said. “The fact of the matter is, Tom told me there would be a virus before any physical evidence surfaced. That was enough to get me on a plane. Granted, this isn’t something we want to leak, but neither can we ignore it. I’m not suggesting we start barring the doors, but I am suggesting we give contingencies some thought.”
“Of course!” Dutêtrecontinued. “But I might suggest that your boy is the real problem here. Not some virus. It occurs to me that Raison Pharmaceutical is now in the toilet, regardless of how this plays out. I wonder what Thomas Hunter is being paid to kidnap and fabricate all of these tales.”
Heavy silence descended on the room as if someone had dropped a thousand pounds of smothering flour on everyone. Gains looked stunned. Phil Grant just stared at the smiling Frenchman.
“Thomas Hunter is here at my request,” Gains said. “We did not invite—”
“No,” Tom said. He held his hand out to Gains. “It’s okay, Mr. Secretary. Let me address his concern.”
Tom pushed his chair back and stood. He put a finger on his chin and paced to the right, then back to the left. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. He had something to say, of course. Something pointed and intelligent.
But suddenly it occurred to him that what he thought was intelligent might very well sound like nonsense to the Frenchman. And yet, in his silence, stalking in front of them at this very moment, he had complete if momentary power. The realization extended his silence at least another five seconds.
He could trade power too.
“How long have you been working in the intelligence community, Mr. Dutêtre?” Tom asked. He shoved a hand into his pocket. His khaki cargo pants weren’t exactly the going dress in this room, but he shoved the thought from his mind.
“Fifteen years,” Dutêtresaid.
“Good. Fifteen years, and you get invited to a gig like this. Do you know how long I’ve been at this game, Mr. Dutêtre?”
“Never, from what I can gather.”
“Close. Your intelligence is off. Just over one week, Mr. Dutêtre. And yet I was also invited to this gig. You have to ask yourself how I managed to get the deputy secretary of state and the director of the CIA to cross the ocean to meet with me. What is it that I said? What do I really know? Why are these men and women gathered here in Bangkok at my request?”
Now the room was more than silent. It felt vacant.
“In a word, Mr. Dutêtre,it is extraordinary,” Tom said. He put the tips of his fingers on the table and leaned forward. “Something very extraordinary has occurred to compel this meeting. And now you’re sounding very plain and boring to me. So I’ve decided to do something that I’ve done a number of times already. Something extraordinary. Would you like that, Mr. Dutêtre?”
The Frenchman glanced at Phil Grant. “What is this, a pony show?”
“Would you like to see me float into the air? Maybe if I did that you’d be convinced?”
Someone made a sound that sounded like a half chuckle.
“Okay, I will float for you. Not like you might expect, hovering in mid-air, but what I’m going to do will be no less extraordinary. Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t change that fact. Are you ready?”
No comment.
“Let me set this up. The fact is, I knew who would win the Kentucky Derby, I knew that the Raison Vaccine would mutate, and I knew exactly under what circumstances it would mutate. Mr. Raison, what’s the probability that you, much less I, could do that?”
“Impossible,” the man said.
“Theresa, you must have a good working knowledge of these matters. What would you say the probability would be?”
She just stared at him.
“Exactly. There are no probabilities, because it’s impossible. So for all practical purposes, I already have floated for you. Now I’m saying I can float again, and you have the audacity to call me a fraud.”
The Frenchman was smiling, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “So you remember exactly how the virus mutates, and you think you may have given some information about the antivirus to this Carlos character, but you forget how to formulate it yourself?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
“How convenient.”
“Listen to me carefully,” Tom said. “Here comes my floating trick. The Raison Strain is a highly contagious and extremely lethal airborne virus that will infect most of the world’s population within the next three weeks unless we find a way to stop it. Delaying one day could make the difference between life and death for millions. We will learn of its release within seven days, when the community of nations, perhaps through the United Nations, receives notice to hand over sovereignty and all nuclear weapons in exchange for an antivirus. This is the course history is now on.”
Louis Dutêtreleaned back in his chair and tapped a pencil on his knuckles. “And what you would like to do is bring on World War III before it’s here. Monsters aren’t conquered by heroes on white horses in this world, Mr. Hunter. Your virus may kill us all, but believing in your virus will kill us all.”
“Then either way, we’re all dead,” Tom said. “You can accept that?”
Gains lifted a hand to stall the exchange. “I think you see his point, Tom. There are complications. It may not be black and white. We can’t run around yelling virus. Frankly, we don’t have a virus yet, at least not one that we know will be used or even could be used. What do you propose?”
Tom pulled his chair out and sat. “I propose we take Svensson out before he can
release the virus.”
“That’s impossible,” the CIA director said. “He has rights. We’re moving, but we can’t just drop a bomb on his head. Doesn’t work that way.”
“Assuming you’re right about Svensson,” Gains said, “he would need a vaccine or an antivirus to trade, right? So that gives us some time.”
“Nothing says he has to wait until he has the antivirus before releasing the virus. As long as he’s confident he can produce an antivirus within a couple of weeks, he could release the virus and call our bluff, claiming to have the antivirus. Right now the race is to stop Svensson before he can do any damage. Once he does his damage, our only hope will ride with an antivirus and a vaccine.”
“And how long would that take?” Gains asked, turning to Raison.
“Without Monique? Months. With her?” He shrugged. “Maybe sooner. Weeks.” He didn’t mention the possible reversal of her genetic signature, as Peter had explained to Tom yesterday.
“Which is another reason why we have to go after Svensson and determine if he has Monique,” Tom said. “The world just may depend on Monique in the coming weeks.”
“And what suggestion do you have short of taking out Svensson?” Gains asked Tom.
“At this point? None. We should have taken out Svensson twenty-four hours ago. If we had, this would all be over now. But then what do I know? I’m just a wannabe novelist in cargo pants.”
“That’s right, Mr. Hunter, you are,” the Frenchman said. “Keep that in mind. You’re firing live bullets. I won’t have you galloping around the world shooting your six-guns. I for one would like to pour a little water down your barrels.”
Grant’s phone chirped, and he turned to answer it quietly.
“I would like to consider some contingency planning in the event we do end up with a problem,” Gains said. “What are your thoughts on containment, Mr. Raison?”
“It depends on how a virus would break out. But if Svensson is behind any of this, he will know how to eliminate any containment possibilities. That’s the primary difference between natural occurrences of a virus and forced occurrences as in bioweapons. He could get the virus into a hundred major cities within a week.”
“Yes, but if—”
“Excuse me, Merton.” Grant snapped his cell shut. “This may all be moot. Our people have just finished a sweep of Svensson’s facilities in the Swiss Alps. They found nothing.”
Tom sat up. “What do you mean, nothing? That’s not—”
“I mean, no sign of anything unusual.”
“Was Svensson there?”
“No. But we spoke to his employees at some length. He’s due back in two days for an interview with the Swiss Intelligence, which we will also attend. He’s been at a meeting with suppliers in South America. We confirmed the meeting. There’s no evidence that he’s had anything to do with a kidnapping or any massive conspiracy to release a virus.”
Silence engulfed them.
“Well, that’s good news, I would say,” Gains said.
“That’s not news at all,” Tom said. “So he’s not at his main lab. He could be anywhere. Wherever he is, he has both Monique and the Raison Strain. I’m telling you, you have to find him now!”
Gains put his hand out. “We will, Tom. One step at a time. This is encouraging; let’s not pour water over it just yet.”
With those words Tom knew that he had lost them all. Except Kara. Merton Gains was as much of an advocate as he could expect. If Gains was expressing caution, the game was over.
Tom stood. “I really don’t think you need me to discuss contingencies. I’ve told you what I know. I’ll repeat it one more time for those of you who are slow tonight. History is about to take a plunge down a nasty course. You’ll all know that soon, when unthinkable demands come from a man named Valborg Svensson, although I doubt he’s working alone. For all I know, one of you works for him.”
That kept them in a state of mild shock.
“Good night. If for some inexplicable reason you need me, I’ll be in my room, 913, hopefully sleeping. Heaven knows someone has to do something.”
Kara stood and lifted her chin evenly. They walked out side by side, brother and sister.
Exhaustion swamped Tom the moment the conference room door thumped shut behind him. He stopped and gazed down the empty hall, dazed. He’d been running through this madness for over a week without a break, and his body was starting to feel like it was filled with lead.
“Well, I guess you told them,” Kara said quietly.
“I have to get some rest. I feel like I’m going to drop.”
She slipped her arm through his and guided him down the hall. “I’m putting you to bed, and I’m not letting anyone wake you until You’ve caught up on your sleep. That’s final.”
He didn’t argue. There was nothing he could do at the moment anyway. There might not be anything more he could do. Ever.
“Don’t worry, Thomas. I think you said what needed saying. They’ll have a change of attitude soon enough. Right?”
“Maybe. I hope not.”
She understood. The only thing that would change their attitudes would be an actual outbreak of the Raison Strain, and nobody could hope for that.
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
“For what? I’m not doing anything! You’re the hero here.”
“Hero?” He scoffed. “Without you I would probably be in some fighting ring downtown trying to prove myself.”
“You have a point,” she said.
They entered the elevator and rode up alone.
“Since you seem agreeable to my suggestions, do you mind if I make another one?” Kara asked.
“Sure. I’m not sure if my tired mind is up to understanding anything more at the moment.”
“It’s something I’ve been thinking about.” She paused. “If the virus is released, I don’t see how anyone can physically stop it. At least not in twenty-one days.”
He nodded. “And?”
“Especially if it’s already a matter of history, as You’ve learned in the green forest, which is where all this is coming from, right?”
“Right.”
“But why you? Why did this information just happen to be dumped in your lap? Why are you flipping between these realities?”
“Because I’m connected somehow.”
“Because you’re the only one who can ultimately make a difference. You started it. The virus exists because of you. Maybe only you can stop it.”
The elevator stopped on the ninth floor and they headed for their suite.
“If that’s true,” he said, “then God help us all because, believe me, I don’t have a clue what to do. Except sleep. Even then, we’ve been abandoned. Three days ago my entire understanding of God was flipped on its end, at least in my dreams. Now it’s been flipped again.”
“Then sleep.”
“Sleep. Dream.”
“Dream,” she said. “But not just dream. I mean really dream.”
He led her into the room. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“The green forest is gone. The world’s changed.” He sighed and plopped into a chair by the table. “I’m in a desert, half-dead. No water, no fruit, no Roush. I get shot now, and I really do die. If anything, the information will have to flow the other way to keep me alive there.” He cocked his head. “Now there’s an idea.”
“You don’t know that. I’m not saying you should go out and get shot and see what happens, mind you. But there’s a reason why you’re there. In that world. And there’s a reason you’re here.”
“So what exactly are you suggesting?”
She dropped her purse on the bed and faced him. “That you go on an all-out search for something in that reality that will help us here. Take your time. There’s no correlation between time there and time here, right?”
“As soon as I fall asleep there, I’m here.”
“I am somebody.”
“You are, and I love you the way you are. But for the sake of this world, become someone more. Someone who can save this world. Go to sleep, dream, and come back a new man.”
He looked at his sister. So full of optimism. But she didn’t understand the extent of the devastation in the other reality.
“I have to get some sleep,” he said, walking toward his room.
“Dream, Thomas. Dream long. Dream big.”
“I will.”
36
Tom’s mind flooded with images of a young boy standing innocently at the center of a brightly colored room, chin raised to the ceiling, eyes wide, mouth gaping.
Johan. And his skin was as smooth as a pool of chocolate milk. His deep-throated song suddenly thundered in the room, startling Tom.
He rolled over in his sleep.
For a moment the night lay quiet. Then the boy began to sing again. Quietly this time, with closed eyes and raised hands. The sweet refrains drifted to the heavens like birdsong. They ascended the scale and began to distort.
Distort? No. Johan always spun a flawless song to the last note. But the sound climbed the scale and grew to more of a wail than a song. Johan was wailing.
Tom’s eyes sprang open. The morning’s soft light flooded his vision. His ears filled with the sound of a child singing in broken tones.
He pushed himself to an elbow, gazed about, and rested his eyes on the boulder twenty paces from where he and Rachelle lay. There, facing the forest they had left behind, sitting cross-legged on the boulder with his back turned to them, Johan lifted his chin in song. A weak, halting song to be sure. Strained and off key. But a song nonetheless.
Rachelle raised to a sitting position next to him and stared at her brother. Her skin was dry and flaking. As was his own. Tom swallowed and turned back to Johan, who wailed with his arms spread wide.
“Elyon, help us,” he sang. “Elyon, help us.”
