The Null Prophecy

by Michael Guillen

  The lights in the lab flickered.

  She was still in Calder’s arms, her mind reeling from their long, dizzying kiss.

  He abruptly let go. “Oh, lord, what now?”

  The lights went out altogether.

  “Don’t move,” he said, “Let me go check the fuse box.”

  He fetched his smartphone from his shirt pocket, activated its flashlight, and dashed off.

  A minute later she could hear banging sounds coming from the back of the lab. “Calder? Are you all right?”

  The distant reply came quickly. “Yeah. The breaker wasn’t tripped—there’s just no power coming in. It’s weird. I’m switching to the emergency generators.”

  She scanned the darkness. The only things visible were the bright screens of computers sitting on benches all over the lab.

  Must be running on batteries.

  But there was something odd about them—their displays were breaking up.

  The overhead lights came back on. But the computer displays continued behaving strangely.

  It struck her like a hammer.

  The CME!

  “Calder! I’ve gotta go! I’ll be at the live truck!”

  She rushed outside, but immediately was stopped cold by the sight of headlights moving fast in her direction.

  CHAPTER 40

  TRUST

  SUNDAY, APRIL 30 (9:58 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)

  NAVAL BASE POINT LOMA; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 28 HOURS 50 MINUTES

  Her eyes went from the headlights, which she now could tell belonged to several military Jeeps, to the night sky. It was mottled with swirling colors, as before, but gave no evidence the CME had struck early.

  Then what—?

  The motorcade halted in front of her. Agent Aragon jumped out of the lead vehicle.

  “Finally!” she said under her breath.

  Earlier today, given the severity of the X-ray storms, she decided the lab would be a far safer refuge for her family than the church basement. With Calder’s blessing, she asked for Aragon’s help. “Anything you wish,” he said. “President’s orders.”

  He rushed up to her. “Ms. Armendariz, I’m so sorry it took so long. The streets are jammed like you can’t believe. And—”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, peering anxiously in the direction of the idling convoy. “Thanks for making this happen; I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

  As she spoke, her brother hurried toward her, followed closely by Albert Hernandez.

  Beto?

  “Dios, it’s good to see you, big brother,” she said, giving Carlos a bear hug, adding as sincerely as she could, “Good to see you, too, Beto.”

  When they finished embracing, she said to Carlos, “Go ahead and tell ’em to get out.”

  “Who?”

  “The family, tonto.” She took a step in the direction of the vehicles. “I wanna show you guys where—”

  Carlos reached out and detained her. “Wait a minute, Sis. They didn’t come. Only me and Beto—and we’re not staying.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Not here. Somewhere pri—”

  Calder rushed out of the lab. “Allie, what in the world’s going on?”

  “It’s my family. You remember Carlos, my brother. And this is Albert Hernandez, a family friend.”

  After a flurry of hellos she led Carlos into the lab. “So what’s going on?”

  He took her hands. “First of all, everybody’s really grateful you thought of them. But they didn’t come on account of they didn’t want to be in your way.”

  She pulled away. “But that’s ridiculous, they wouldn’t be in my way. It’s a big lab, for Pete’s sake.”

  “It’s not only that, Allie, it’s . . .”

  “What? Tell me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just that Alicia and I don’t feel comfortable abandoning the congregation. She and the hermanas have fixed up the church basement with cots and everything. They’ve even made all kinds of food. Everyone’s coming to wait out the storm together. We’ll be fine.”

  She was suddenly nauseous. “I know Carlos, I know. You told me and I thought it was a good idea—at first. But now I’m worried it might not be safe enough! This thing is—”

  “Allie, you know the people of the church. They’re not just believers.” He made a fist and tapped it against his heart. “They trust. There’s a big difference, you know. Even Satan believes. But los hermanos are surrendering this thing to the Lord because they truly trust him. Con todo sus corazones, with all their hearts.”

  She gaped at him. “And Mom and Dad, are they still—?”

  “Yes—just like I told you before. Beto’s having a limo pick them both up and bring them to the church—along with a nurse. You know Beto, primera clase all the way.”

  She had to admit it, Beto was a good man—despite his annoying relentlessness.

  “And Lolo? What’s gonna happen to her?” She flung herself at Carlos and held him hard. “Oh, Carlos, what’s going to happen to our baby sister?”

  She began to weep.

  “I know, Sis, I know.” His voice faltered. “I spoke with the Denver detective just before coming here. It wasn’t easy getting through because of the bad phone lines. He said they hadn’t heard anything new from Interpol.” He paused. “He also told me that truthfully, with everything going on, it’s not—”

  “Don’t say it, don’t say it,” she said, letting go of him. “Let’s just pray.”

  Carlos uttered a brief prayer and then said in a quiet voice, “Well, Beto and I better be getting back. We’ll be fine, Sis. Don’t worry.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Arm in arm, they stepped out of the brightly lit lab and into the night.

  “Hold on, I have a surprise for you,” Carlos said.

  As he ran to the parked vehicles, she caught sight of more headlights heading their way.

  Dang, it’s like Grand Central Station all of a sudden!

  Carlos returned quickly, clutching a bulging paper bag, Beto at his side. “A care package from the hermanas.”

  “A dozen of their best tamales,” Beto chimed in, beaming. “Son de rez y Texas style, just the way you like ’em.”

  Before she could thank them, the new cluster of headlights pulled up, accompanied by the sound of screeching tires.

  A large MP jumped out of the lead Jeep. “Excuse me, ma’am. We’re looking for Dr. Sinclair. It’s urgent.”

  She ran inside and found him still working on the supersonic module. “Calder, someone needs you right away!”

  They both sprinted outside.

  “Yes, here I am,” Calder said.

  “Dr. Sinclair, sir,” the MP said, “they’ve found her.”

  “Hero?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re flying her back this very minute.” Then the large man’s face dropped. “There’s only one thing.”

  CHAPTER 41

  A NEW DAY

  MONDAY, MAY 1 (7:00 A.M. CENTRAL EUROPEAN SUMMER TIME)

  BANCO SEVILLANO; SEVILLE, SPAIN

  ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 28 HOURS 48 MINUTES

  Mother Yolanda was waiting at the door of the bank when the security guard unlocked it and welcomed her in. She was carrying an old cloth bag filled with the cash, checks, and money orders the convent received from people all over the world. The total was far more than they’d prayed for: $451,345.22—enough even for an endowment, she hoped.

  “Buenos dias, Reverend Mother,” the bank president said, coming quickly toward her.

  She smiled. He seemed so young to be in charge of Banco Sevillano. “Buenos dias, my son.”

  “Is this the deposit? Let me help you with it.”

  Back at the convent, the sisters had vied for the privilege of delivering the heavy bundle to the bank. But she felt called to carry it herself, despite its heaviness.

  The young man took the bag and
led her to his private office. “Okay, now.” He settled into a high-back, brown leather chair behind his massive desk. “You have many options for what to do with the money. I will do my best to explain them and to advise you. But in the end it will be your choice. You understand, sí?”

  She nodded and grinned, amused at how young people often spoke to her—as though she were senile.

  “Give me just a moment while I start up my computer,” he said. “You are my first appointment today and the most important one of all.”

  She sat back and surveyed the office.

  So fancy.

  The orphanage had been doing business with Banco Sevillano for many decades.

  “I remember your father, may he rest in peace, when he was running the bank. He was a good . . .” Something appeared to be wrong. She could see it in the young man’s furrowed brow. “Is there a problem?”

  “One moment, please, Reverend Mother.” He stood up and left the room.

  It immediately crossed her mind that the enemy might be at it again. He had not relented since the beginning of their good fortune.

  On her way to the bank this morning even the traffic lights stopped working. One after another, they either went out or blinked constantly. The sisters warned her the sun was threatening to do such things. But she knew better.

  The lights in the bank faltered.

  She fumbled for her rosary beads.

  Yes, the enemy is on the prowl.

  She would need to be especially alert today in handling the money. The sooner it was deposited the better.

  The banker returned, still wearing a vexed look. “Mother Yolanda, I’m sorry for the delay.”

  “What is it, my son?”

  “Well, I really don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Try, my son.” Then she added, asking God to forgive her mischievous jab, “But please use plain words because I am a simple old woman.”

  The young banker laughed self-consciously. “Well, to put it simply, Reverend Mother, when I accessed your account just now, it showed a balance of $7,777,777. And no one can explain why. There’s no record of a deposit, it just appeared that way moments ago. Like magic.”

  MONDAY, MAY 1 (1:04 P.M. CHINA STANDARD TIME)

  SHANGHAI JIAO TONG UNIVERSITY; SHANGHAI, CHINA

  ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 28 HOURS 44 MINUTES

  Zhaohui Tang, sitting with her grad students before a wall of outsized computer screens, stared in utter amazement at the telemetry and fluttering imagery on display.

  Her proprietary diagnostic program was tracking the lightning-fast proliferation of the unfamiliar virus that erupted an hour earlier. The Trojan horse, ferocious beyond anything she’d ever seen, was hitching rides on search engines, browsers, e-mail servers—doing everything possible to replicate itself and infect the entire World Wide Web.

  At the moment it was targeting computer-controlled public systems—local, regional, and national—appearing to give priority to power grids, telephonic networks, and the media. She watched helplessly as it attacked China Radio’s broadcast system and the People’s government websites—including military ones—with fiendish alacrity.

  For now, the lab’s computer system—independently powered by natural gas generators and protected by her new add-on—was holding up to the brutal onslaught. But she knew it was only a matter of minutes, if that long, before the malware-fighting add-on succumbed and the entire system crashed.

  A female student burst into the room looking distraught. “Professor!”

  “Jia, what is wrong?”

  “Everybody in the university is fleeing! Power is down all over the city. People are screaming that we’re being attacked.”

  “It’s a computer virus,” Zhaohui said calmly, remaining in her chair in front of the giant screens. “And it’s not just Shanghai. We’ve been tracking it. Electricity is out everywhere, all over China, all over the world. It’s a massive cyberattack. But we must remain calm.”

  MONDAY, MAY 1 (2:36 P.M. AUSTRALIAN CENTRAL STANDARD TIME)

  CHARLES DARWIN UNIVERSITY; CASUARINA, AUSTRALIA

  ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 28 HOURS 42 MINUTES

  Sara was sitting on her bed trying without luck to reach her dad by e-mail. For some reason her computer, like her cell, was no longer working.

  “Arghhh, c’mon!” she said, banging on the keyboard.

  The dorm room lights went out.

  Moments later Dirk burst through the door. “Sara, you in there?!”

  “Yeah, right here.”

  “Oh, thank god. Electricity’s down all over the university! It’s like totally spooky-crazy.”

  MONDAY, MAY 1 (8:10 A.M. ISRAEL DAYLIGHT TIME)

  MOUNT OF OLIVES; JERUSALEM, ISRAEL

  ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 28 HOURS 38 MINUTES

  The noise of a padlock being unlocked made Lorena sit up.

  Jamil!

  She’d spent the night sleeping in a niche in the subterranean cemetery called the Tombs of the Prophets, on the western slope of the Mount of Olives. Jewish and Christian tradition held—and she believed—these tombs once housed the remains of the Bible’s last three prophets—Haggai, Zachariah, and Malachi—plus dozens of their disciples. In the fifth and sixth centuries BC Zachariah and Malachi prophesied about the End Times and the coming of the Messiah.

  Lorena knew Zachariah 14:4 by heart and began whispering it to herself: “On that day his feet will stand on the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem, and the Mount of Olives will be split in two from east to west, forming a great valley, with half of the Mount moving north and half moving south.”

  Yesterday she took a taxi to the tombs and waited until the final tour of the day, when she nonchalantly blended in with Italian tourists streaming out of two big buses. The large group descended a flight of roughly hewn stone steps. They were greeted inside the pitch-black catacomb by a swarthy, middle-aged man holding a lighted candle. “Welcome, my friends,” he said. “My name is Jamil; I’m the caretaker of this sacred site.”

  For fifteen minutes, as Jamil led the crowd through the labyrinthine cemetery, she was careful to trail behind. At just the right moment she ducked into one of the many deep, dark burial nooks carved into the stone walls—“There are fifty in all,” Jamil explained—and remained there for the rest of the tour.

  “Do we have everybody?” she heard Jamil say at the end. A few moments later, while she held her breath in anxious anticipation, the crowd noise faded away and was punctuated by the loud clanging sound of the metal entrance gate.

  Now, as Jamil welcomed the first tour group of the morning, her insides roiled.

  “Careful on the steps, please. Everyone must have a lighted candle before we can proceed. Matches are in the small box by the candles.”

  She listened sharply to Jamil’s practiced spiel—waiting for just the right moment.

  “Now you are coming into the Tombs of the Prophets . . .”

  Her ears throbbed; her manic heart hammered against her rib cage.

  Wait.

  There was the sound of shuffling feet as Jamil led the tourists to the far side of the catacomb.

  “On the wall you can see the chiseled marks . . .”

  Now!

  Quickly, she lit the candle she’d taken upon entering last evening and crept to the mouth of her small cavern. Poking her head out, she looked around to make certain the coast was clear, then casually walked out. A few anxious moments later, espying the tomb’s main entrance at the top of the stone steps, she felt a surge of optimism. The opening was aglow with the bright sunlight of a new day; a day closer to the momentous event she was here to witness.

  Thank you, Jesus!

  Blowing out the candle, she quickly ascended the stairs and hurried away.

  CHAPTER 42

  DAMAGE CONTROL

  SUNDAY, APRIL 30 (10:15 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)

  NAVAL BASE POINT LOMA; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 28 HOURS
33 MINUTES

  Standing outside Calder’s lab, Allie stared wide-eyed at the explosion of activity. MPs, military reservists, agents from the Secret Service, FBI, and Homeland Security—all were converging on the scene in droves.

  “Whoa!” she said to Aragon, who was still shadowing her. “I’ve seen a whole lot of things as a reporter, but nothing like this.”

  “Same here. Our orders are to lock down the area and make sure Dr. Sinclair and the lab stay safe. His vehicle, too—when it gets here.”

  “And when’s that?”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “Not sure. All I know is Agent Cannatella is with the vehicle now and there’s some kind of hold up.”

  She stared in the direction of the bay, her insides churning. San Diego’s power was out. The only illumination was from overhead—stars peeping through the swirling aurora—making the skyline look other-worldly.

  A flush-faced Eva suddenly appeared and without explanation led Allie to a quiet spot inside the lab next to a bank of battery-operated playback machines.

  “What’s going on?” Allie said.

  “I’ve just heard from our IT guys. They’ve been trying to get through to us for the past hour.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The Quantum chip they’ve been putting through the paces?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s bugged.”

  “What do you mean, bugged? It’s got a hidden microphone?”

  “No! It’s got some kind of virus or something built into it. It went off like a firecracker right at nine o’clock. Our guys say it was programmed to do that.”

  Allie shook her head. “But I don’t get it. What does it mean?” Then she said, “Oh, no, wait. You’re not thinking Kilroy has anything to do with it, are you?!”

  “Who else?! The Quantum I is his baby—he made sure everybody knew it. Here, take a look at this.” She fed a DVD into one of the playback machines. “This was just taken by our chopper over downtown San Diego.”

  The aerial video showed people harshly lit by the copter’s roving spotlight. They were fighting next to an ATM machine that was spitting out money like a Las Vegas slot machine. Moments later the shoving devolved into fist fighting and gunfire.