by Adam Blake
Tillman nodded. ‘But you can’t bomb New York with poisonous umbrellas. You need a delivery system that will flood the streets with millions of those pellets or with billions of smaller solid particles in suspension. If we figure out the system, we’ll know where to find Ber Lusim. And whatever it is he’s come up with, this is where he put it together, so there might be a clue here.’
Nahir and Raziel returned, followed a few minutes later by Taria and then Alus. ‘Nothing,’ Nahir said. ‘No trays, and no obvious surface on which trays might have been ranged or racked. You appear to be mistaken.’
Tillman turned – slowly, carefully, shifting his weight with some difficulty – to look at the Messenger. ‘Maybe about the logistics,’ he said. ‘Not about the chemistry. This process would have produced a pulpy mass, and once it’s dried the ricin is skimmed off the surface. You lay it out flat in a shallow tray because you want a big surface area. If Ber Lusim didn’t do that here, then he took the refined pulp away and skimmed it somewhere else.’
‘A secondary processing plant,’ Kennedy said. ‘Maybe over in Manhattan itself. Would there be any way of identifying it?’
Tillman shook his head reluctantly. ‘No, it’s a pretty streamlined operation. This is the biggest and the hardest part of the job. Pressing the beans, extracting the oil and processing the pulp. That takes time, manpower and a lot of powerful chemical solvents. But when you’re skimming it, all you need is a blade.’
‘And gloves,’ Diema said. ‘Presumably.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t want to touch the stuff, certainly. Or breathe it in. You’d have your harvesters in protective body suits with their own air supply. But unless they go out for a cigarette break and forget to change into their street clothes, I don’t see where that helps us.’
‘In any case, the skimming wouldn’t still be going on now,’ Kennedy pointed out. ‘Whatever Ber Lusim intends to do, we’ve got to assume he’s got it all in place and ready to go.’
‘The trucks that dropped the castor beans and chemicals off here,’ Taria said. ‘Where did they go afterwards?’
Kennedy had never heard Taria speak before and she was surprised that the woman’s voice was light and soft rather than sonorous.
‘I don’t know,’ Diema admitted. ‘And it’s a good question. Nahir, find out.’
Nahir took out a cellphone and dialled, without protest or argument. The earlier conversation about the chain of command must have struck a chord, Kennedy thought.
While he spoke, either to Kuutma or more likely to some subordinate, Tillman made his own painfully slow circuit of the factory. Kennedy went with him, supporting some of his weight.
There was nothing in the main room that caught his attention, but at the back of the space, furthest from the door through which they’d entered, there was a double-door that had once been padlocked. A length of chain still hung from one of the two handles, and the wood of the doors themselves was splintered around the edges. At first, Kennedy thought that Kuutma’s Elohim must have forced the door when they searched the place. Then she realised that the broken chain was welded to the woodwork with immemorial deposits of pigeon shit. It had been there a long time.
In the space beyond, they found a grease pit. Tillman examined it closely, even though he had to kneel down to do so. It was a massive space, about twenty feet by ten in area and five feet deep, with two parallel bars of pitted, rusted iron laid across the bottom. ‘There would have been some kind of hydraulic lift here,’ Tillman thought aloud. ‘Back when this place was still up and running, I mean.’
‘Are you wondering whether Ber Lusim could have laid trays or racks out down there, to skim off the ricin?’ Kennedy asked him.
‘Thought had crossed my mind.’
It looked unlikely, at first glance. The floor of the pit was filled with a thick, foul sediment of oil and slurry.
But Kennedy tapped with her foot at the edge of the pit. Tillman looked where the toe of her shoe was pointing: fresh scuff and scrape marks showed light against the ingrained oil stains at the edge of the pit, and a bisected crust of pigeon shit indicated where a piece of rusty sheet metal had been moved.
‘Something got done here, anyway,’ Kennedy said. ‘Maybe he threw a cover over the pit and set the racks out on that.’
Tillman scanned the bare room slowly, with intense and silent concentration. Then he made a circuit of the pit, which took a good ten minutes, and finally rejoined Kennedy.
‘Plenty of evidence of movement,’ he said. ‘Heavy stuff being dragged around. I think you’re right, Heather. Ber Lusim processed the ricin right here, and then he hauled it out. What I’m looking for is some kind of clue as to what else he might have done with it first. Whether it’s still just loose powder or it’s been packed into jackets or containers of some kind. Aerosol sprayers is a possibility, but then we ought to find some more chemical residues. He’d have been messing with propanes or ether compounds to make a propellant, and the smell would be all over here.’
Kennedy looked at her watch. It was 14.48. Four hours and twelve minutes left. ‘Let’s go see if Nahir found anything on those HEH transports,’ she suggested.
They found that the others had returned to the truck. Rush was sitting on the tailgate, leafing through the typescript of Toller’s book, while Diema was speaking to the other Elohim in their native tongue.
She turned to Tillman and Kennedy as they approached, and switched to English. ‘The trucks went from here to a rented lot at Locust Point,’ she said. ‘Four miles east. They’re still there. Nobody’s used them since, as far as we can tell.’
‘Okay,’ Tillman said. ‘Did you check for—’
Nahir rode right over him. ‘They’re empty, and they’ve been stripped clean. Nothing to go on. Nothing we can use. And the site rental was paid through a front company in Belgium. It was a dead end.’
‘But there’s something else,’ Diema added. ‘Kuutma has been working through the satellite images, and he found something. The time we know about – when they delivered the castor beans – that was the second time this place was visited. HEH trucks came here another time, a week earlier. So there could be something else, besides the ricin. Another threat.’
‘No,’ Rush said.
Nahir shot the boy a look of sheer exasperation and muttered something in Aramaic.
‘It doesn’t make sense, that’s all,’ Rush said, with a defensive shrug. ‘The prophecy talks about one thing. One breath, killing a million people. Not multiple attacks.’
‘He’s right,’ Kennedy said. ‘Whatever was in the first delivery, it has to relate to the ricin. It’s all got to be tied together, somehow. Can we find out what it was?’
‘We’re trying,’ Diema said. ‘The information could be in the computers we took in Gellert Hill. We just can’t afford to wait for it. We’ve either got to find Ber Lusim or else we’ve got to cover every base.’
Kennedy felt a wave of fatalistic despair sweep over her, like a sudden paralysis. There was too much ground to make up and too little time. Ber Lusim had set the agenda all along, and everything they’d done had achieved nothing more than getting them ringside seats for his command performance. Under the circumstances, it was hard to make herself believe that anything they did now could matter.
But Diema was still pacing, her face fierce with thought. And Tillman, watching her, was wearing an expression that was both more complicated and more painful. His desire to help her, to make her mission succeed, was palpable. He’d almost died trying, and it wasn’t over yet.
What was left? What had they missed? What could they still hope to do, in the dog end of time they still had?
‘You said your people checked the water already?’ she asked Diema.
‘Yes,’ Diema said tersely. ‘There’s nothing out there now that shouldn’t be there. And there are Elohim stationed at the confluence of the rivers. If anything unscheduled comes down into this stretch, they’ll keep a watch on it – and fir
e on it if they have to.’
At the confluence of the rivers. That meant at the northern end of Manhattan, right across the water from where they were now. Kennedy wondered whether Diema knew how much she was giving away here, and decided that the answer was almost certainly yes. Whatever else she was, the girl was no fool.
Ber Lusim’s big finale was also his homecoming. Where else would one of the chosen expect the Messiah to descend? So now Kennedy had found Ginat’Dania twice – and this time she hadn’t even been looking for it. It was one more problem that would have to be faced at some point: whether there was any way the three of them could get out of this alive, knowing what they now did.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘And you’ve got the street traffic covered. Air dispersal seems like the best bet – maybe the only bet – but there’s no way he’s going to get in close by diverting a commercial flight. Nine/eleven closed that loophole.’
‘And we’ve got effective lockdowns on all private airfields,’ Alus said. ‘Nothing can get into the air without our Elohim seeing it. And if they don’t like what they see, they’ll swat it down before it even gets off the runway.’
‘Subway trains.’ Kennedy didn’t even believe it as she said it, but there was no point in missing the obvious.
‘There’s only one station in what we think is the target zone,’ Diema told her. ‘207th Street, at the top of Broadway. It’s the northern terminus for one of the main underground lines, so there’s no through traffic to worry about. But Kuutma has stationed Messengers on the platforms and in the streets around, just in case Ber Lusim tries to bring anything in that way.’
‘That way? Meaning in a train? Okay, but suppose he’s setting something up in the tunnels? Maybe it’s worth sending a team in to check.’
‘You’re not thinking of the numbers,’ Nahir told Kennedy scornfully. ‘At the end of the line, there will be the lowest concentration of people. The whole New York subway and Metropolitan transit network – across all the boroughs and outlying areas – handles about four million passengers in the space of a day. Perhaps more, but not many more. What percentage of those do you think will visit 207th Street and Broadway, rhaka? I guarantee you that it’s not a quarter of them.’
Kennedy did her best to ignore the anger that rose inside her. It didn’t help that Nahir was right.
‘Maybe we should forget about the maps, for a while,’ she suggested.
‘And do what?’ Nahir’s politeness was even more scathing than his contempt.
‘And go back to the book. Rush, could you give us the last prophecy again?’
Rush glanced at her, nodded, and turned to the final page of the typescript. She wondered what page he’d been reading, if it wasn’t that one. He began to read aloud. ‘And the stone shall be rolled away from the tomb, as it was the time before—’
‘We know what it says,’ Diema said. Her tone was tense, strained. They were all getting close to the ragged edge.
‘Sure,’ Kennedy agreed. ‘But have we accounted for all the variables? The stone and the tomb, and the voice crying out – yes. That all happened when Shekolni died. And presumably “the time before”, when the stone was first rolled away, is the time of Jesus’s death and resurrection. Toller seems to be saying that at least some of the circumstances of Christ’s second coming will be like the first one.’
‘Obviously,’ Nahir said.
‘And then there’s the breath. “He will condemn a great multitude with a single breath.” If Ber Lusim is as literal-minded with this as he’s been with the other prophecies, he’ll have turned the ricin into some kind of gas.’
‘That’s what we’re assuming,’ Diema said. There was still an edge to her voice, as if this were a distraction from more important things.
‘How high does he have to be to get the stuff out on the wind?’ Kennedy wondered. ‘Has anyone done the maths?’
‘It’s not a question of height,’ Nahir said. ‘With a microlight aircraft, he could cover an area of—’
‘I’m not thinking of aircraft. I’m thinking of window ledges. Rooftops. Terraces. Suppose he’s just relying on the wind? Ricin spreads best as a powder. If he’s refined it into that form, he could have tons of the stuff ready to shovel out into the air. You’re thinking crop sprayers and microlights, but maybe he’ll use a low-tech solution.’
Diema had already picked up her phone. A second later, she was having a conversation, either with Kuutma or with someone else in the hierarchy.
Locked out again, Kennedy gave the typescript back to Rush.
‘I think we may be about to hit the road,’ she said. ‘Get ready.’
Diema lowered her phone. ‘The prevailing wind is westerly,’ she said. ‘But only for the last couple of hours. It’s predicted to be from the north, which is where it’s been for most of the last three days. Kuutma is sending spotters up to the tops of the tallest buildings. They’ll look for suspicious movement. But we’re talking about thousands of windows and hundreds of rooftops. He’s…’ She hesitated, picking her words with care. ‘He’s going to try to draft in some additional Elohim.’
‘He’s asking for volunteers,’ Tillman translated. ‘Raising a posse of concerned citizens.’
There was another pause. Diema nodded.
Nahir muttered something savage and Diema shut him up with a terse ‘Ve rahi!’ She’d just confirmed that Ginat’Dania was right here and the fact had not gone unnoticed by the other Messengers.
Kennedy tried not to think about that. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ she said. ‘But a wind out of the north will be passing right through here, won’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Diema confirmed. ‘Kuutma already made that point. He’ll send some people – as many as he can. But we’re stretched very thin now. It’s possible that we can’t check every possible location in time.’
‘Then let’s get started,’ Kennedy said. ‘We can work outward from this place in semi-circular sweeps, doubling back on ourselves every time we hit the river.’
‘Two hours left,’ Tillman mused. ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong, Heather, but maybe this is the wrong time to be putting all our eggs in one basket.’
‘The only basket we have,’ Diema countered. ‘Unless anyone can think of anything better, that’s what we’re going to do.’
She waited, looking from face to face. Nobody spoke.
‘Then it’s agreed. We pair up, with a Messenger in each pair, so that we can stay in touch with each other and with Kuutma.’
‘Can I be paired with you?’ Rush asked her.
‘No,’ Diema said.
Rush tried again, tentative but stubborn. ‘I’d like … I need to talk to you about some stuff. Please. Let me go with you.’
‘We’ll talk later, Rush. For now, you go with Taria. Alus, you’re with Kennedy. I’ll go with—’
‘I’m staying here,’ Tillman said. ‘This is a tall building. If I can find my way up to the roof, I can get the lay of the land from here. I’ll just slow you down, in any case. You’ll get twice as much done without me, and I can keep in touch with you by phone. If anything else occurs to me, I’ll pass it along.’
‘He’ll need to be guarded,’ Nahir said, ignoring Tillman and speaking directly to Diema. ‘More than ever now, after your incautious words. He can’t be left alone, to speak to others of his kind, or leave messages. Someone has to watch him, from now until—’
‘Then watch him,’ Diema snapped.
‘Yeah,’ Rush said. ‘That’ll work.’ He stood up, whacking the rolled typescript against the side of the truck and producing a bass-drum boom. They all looked at him – much as they’d looked at Taria when she’d proved she had a voice. His face was full of anger and confusion and hurt pride. ‘I mean, it’s not like your friend there will kill us as soon as your back is turned. It’s not like he was trying to persuade your boss to finish us off back in Budapest. He’s a reasonable man. I bet he’d never even dream of sharpening his knife on Leo’s kidneys.’
Diema was rigid with impatience, standing on the balls of her feet. ‘He’ll follow his orders,’ she said tightly. ‘Kuutma said he’d give a ruling. You’re safe until he’s pronounced on you.’
‘So you say. If Leo stays, I’m staying too. And I’ll be watching your friend the whole time he watches us.’ He stared at her, looking close to tears, and she looked back at him with a face like a closed fist. If it was a staring contest, Rush lost. He held up the typescript like a shield in front of his eyes. ‘Anyway, Kennedy said the answer’s in here and I believe her. So you do what you want. I’ll stick around and catch up on my reading.’
‘As you like,’ Diema said curtly. ‘We’ll spend an hour on this, then regroup here. And we’ll stay in touch by phone, in the meantime. Those who are coming, come.’
Along with Alus, Taria, Kennedy and Raziel, she headed out. Diema and Kennedy took the truck, since somebody had to. The others took to the streets on foot.
66
A feeling of despair welled up inside Rush as he watched Diema leave.
Brief as it was, their lovemaking had left him feeling more bruised and blown open than he’d felt at any time since the death of his ex-girlfriend, Siobhan – the one who’d killed herself.
Then Kuutma had shone a light on the whole thing that was crazy but plausible. Diema had done that to him – seduced him, or raped him, or ricocheted off him – because for some reason she wanted to get pregnant. Maybe it was like that tired bullshit you heard about single mothers and council flats. Girls having babies so they could jump the queue. Maybe Ginat’Dania had a housing shortage.
But when he got that far, and tried to imagine Diema – who he thought of as an unexploded bomb in human form – knitting woollen booties, breast-feeding, pushing a stroller, it was like trying to paint the two sides of a Moebius strip in different colours.
If that was all, if she’d needed a quick delivery system for some DNA, he’d still feel stupid but he could let it go. What was hard was the not knowing: the feeling that his pocket had been picked, somehow, while his attention was elsewhere, and that he couldn’t figure out what had been taken.
