“Right.” Agent Schultz sounded unconvinced. He stared blankly for a moment. “No, I still don't get it. Why does it make such a big explosion? I mean it's only a few kilos of uranium? A few kilos of C4 will cause damage but not on the same scale.”
“It's a nuclear bomb. The forces inside the nucleus are much stronger than chemical ones. When you rearrange them and they release the stored energy, it's much more energy.”
“But why? Where did the stored energy come from? How did it get in there?”
“It's stored in the uranium...” replied Gary weakly.
“Where does uranium come from?” Agent Schultz interjected.
“Out the ground – from a mine, just like any other mineral.”
“Yeah, but how did it get in the ground?”
Gary inwardly groaned. This was new territory and Gary was getting frustrated with the string of pointless questions. Gary unleashed his answer without tempering the science jargon.
“It was accreted from dust clouds when the solar system formed. The uranium itself was formed in supernovae explosions billions of years ago when the first generation of stars after the big bang died. If it wasn't for radioactive elements – like uranium – in the core of the Earth, slowly releasing radiation and heat over millennia, the Earth would cool down, the core would solidify and the magnetic field would collapse leaving the Earth exposed to intense radiation from the sun. Sufficient radiation to sterilise the surface – meaning mankind would never have evolved to question where the blasted uranium came from.”
Agent Schultz looked slyly at Gary.
“Now I know you're just making fun of me. It's not nice, don't do it, Gary. I'm not stupid.”
Agent Schultz turned away and headed for the coffee machine. Agent Vitti called after him to bring in the next suspect, Mister Lim. Gary was left bewildered by the seeming ignorance of Agent Schultz but also, he had not seen it before: Humanity did indeed depend on uranium for its evolution and existence but it was also like a sword hanging over their heads ready to drop when some crackpot stirred things up or a rogue general went on a bender. Nuclear war was increasingly inevitable and would utterly change civilisation – if any civilisation were left afterwards.
Gary was roused by Agent Vitti's announcement that the next interview was ready to start. Gary had seen several by Agents Vitti and Schultz. They played their roles to perfection. Practise had allowed them to anticipate each other’s' moves and place the person of interest at their most vulnerable. Gary was impressed. He had sat in on four that morning. Now facing the double team of Vitti and Schultz was a South Korean businessman with links to the North Korean regime – or so it was alleged. Agent Schultz started.
“Could you confirm your name, Mister Lim?”
“Yes.”
“Date of birth?
“Fourth of July, nineteen-sixty-eight.” Lim sounded unimpressed – verging on boredom.
“Is this your birth certificate?” Agent Schultz fished out a document and flashed it across the table.
“Yes.”
“Where were you born?”
“I was born in Seoul. Just like it says on the certificate.”
“Oh, of course. My mistake.” There was a feigned sincerity in Agent Vitti's voice. Gary flicked through a copy of Lim's file: the birth certificate was marked as a forgery.
“You have business interests here in the US, Seoul and in North Korea?”
“I have business interests … in many places.”
“And a very nice house in Wonsan?” Agent Schultz perused a photo from a file – one that he did not show to Lim. His face looked impressed – even envious. “It's not my colour scheme, you understand, but a big house like this, you must spend a lot of time there? Right?” Lim looked uncomfortable.
“Wonsan? I like the neighbourhood.”
Agent Vitti took over, “A nice place to raise a family. Hmm. You wouldn't want to relocate? How old is your daughter? Fourteen? That's a delicate age. My own daughter is sixteen and she's a ton of work and I'm stuck in the office 'til nine most nights...”
Lim held up his hands, palms toward Agent Vitti.
“Look, I don't want any trouble. Yes, some of my business activities are of a more delicate nature but I've been through all this with your colleagues last week. Don't get me wrong, Uncle Sam's hospitality is better than a Pyongyang prison but … the coffee is not so good. What is it you want this time?” Agent Vitti flinched in surprise.
“Which colleagues?”
“A tall white guy. A short black guy. Agents Brown and Edwards. Isn't it in your file?” Lim indicated the dossier held by Agent Schultz. Gary had read the file. Lim had spent three years in a North Korean jail – probably tortured. Since then he had been suspected of shady arms dealing. He was a very small part of North Korea's ambition to obtain nuclear status – one that had eventually proved successful. There was nothing in the file about an interrogation last week.
Agent Vitti shrugged his shoulders, “Paperwork.”
“What were you chatting to Agents Brown and Edwards about?” Agent Schultz left the room.
“Oh, you know, current events... Is there any chance I could have a nicer coffee? This one has something of a … bitter after-taste.”
“Agents Brown and Edwards?”
“Same stuff as you. Nothing more… Look, last month I picked up a few parking tickets, speeding fines. Could you arrange for them to be misfiled?”
“Paperwork can go missing.” Agent Vitti remained impassive.
“And there is a matter of discussion with the IRS. Could you, perhaps, persuade them to … misfile …?”
Agent Schultz returned. He clutched two photos. He presented one to Lim. “Agent Brown?” Lim nodded. “Agent Edwards?” Again Lim nodded.
Agent Vitti continued, “That depends what you were talking to Agents Brown and Edwards about and how helpful you want to be.”
Agent Schultz took over, “Agents Brown and Edwards only deal with very serious cases – that means you're in very deep shit.” Agent Schultz's tone was harsh and uncompromising.
Agent Vitti spoke softer, “What have you got into?”
“Agents Brown and Edwards asked about cryogenic pumps.” Agent Vitti looked blankly at Agent Schultz.
“Now, that doesn't sound too serious – not worth a parking ticket.”
“They asked about the Nephilim.”
“Who are they?” demanded Agent Schultz.
“They're in the marketplace. They buy. They sell. I've no idea who they are. Africans, I think. There was something about Bose-Einstein condensates – whatever they are.”
Gary felt almost physically prodded. This was something new. A Bose-Einstein condensate – Gary had read articles about this recently discovered form of matter existing at very low temperatures. It was cutting-edge science but had no practical application – just wacky theory and a few experiments. Gary was genuinely baffled and curious. He butted in.
“What was the condensate made with?”
“I don't know. I only buy and sell equipment – I don't know what it's for. I don't need to know. Agents Brown and Edwards asked about U-F-six. It means nothing to me.”
Gary froze. He hoped Lim had not noticed his reaction. Lim might claim not to know what U-F-six was but Gary certainly did. It was the chemical symbol for uranium-hexafluoride. Gary felt a chill. If someone succeeded in making a Bose-Einstein condensate from uranium-hexafluoride, it would separate the fissile material from the junk. Could it be done? Gary had no idea but it might be a viable alternative to the banks of hundreds of spinning centrifuges that, over many successive stages, gradually increased the proportion of fissile material. A Bose-Einstein condensate would separate fissile material in one stage. In theory, it offered a quick route to nuclear bomb material.
Agents Vitti and Schultz wrapped up the interview, testing Lim in other areas. In short shift, Lim was escorted out.
Gary was full of questions.
“Is he
North or South Korean?”
“North Korean by birth, South Korean by fraud,” stated Agent Schultz.
“The house in Wonsan – that's in North Korea, isn't it?”
“Indeed it is.” This time Agent Vitti replied. “He works for the North Koreans. His wife and four children – two sons and two daughters – enjoy the hospitality of the North Korean government. It is like an insurance policy. If Lim doesn't display impeccable loyalty, the goodwill extended to his family is amortised. A big house in Wonsan means he's been very loyal.”
“So they are hostages?”
“Yes. And we use it to ensure his cooperation. It's better to let him do his business but keep him under observation and get reliable information.”
“So tell me about Agents Brown and Edwards? Where do they fit in?”
“They're not working for us – if that's what you mean. Even Lim worked out that much during the interview. We have crossed their trail before. Most likely they are working for the Russians but could be the Chinese or Israelis – depends who is paying the most for their services.”
The interview with Lim had thrown Gary's world into confusion. The complexity that now presented itself was numbing. The predicament of Lim and his family was unimaginable and there was a pang of shock that Agents Vitti and Schultz exploited the situation themselves.
Agent Vitti shrugged, picked up the dossiers and said, “Look, we gotta go. We'll check up on Lim's cryogenic pumps and see if it leads anywhere. We'll be in touch.”
As they were leaving Gary asked, “And who are the Nephilim?” Agent Schultz turned and shrugged. He had no idea.
Chapter 29
National Secure Archive Facility
Julia was desperate to see Omar. She needed to know he was okay – that they hadn’t harmed him. She had endured another briefing with Patriarch Ryan and the other directors of the Ark. To her complete surprise, Patriarch Ryan had over-ruled Thomas and he insisted that she, Julia, should visit Omar. She suspected they were not telling her everything and that she was just a pawn. What their intrigues and plots were, she had no idea. The Ark – a mere remnant of humanity living out their pointless lives waiting – was hardly the place to hatch devious Machiavellian plots. Julia exorcised these thoughts and focussed her mind on Omar.
Julia found Omar resting and watching the pictures from the topside camera. There was a light morning mist lifting as the sun rose over the beach and fringed the top of the dunes with a golden aura.
“That's the beach where you were washed up – where I found you.”
“I thought as much. I realised I was missing the sky. Frank was kind enough to set this up for me.”
“Yeah, he's one of the decent ones.” Julia caught herself. She did not want to express too much of her disillusionment but the response just came straight out. Omar was sure to work out that Julia thought others less decent. She would try to be more guarded.
Omar's voiced sounded stronger and he looked well. She recalled the horrid image of Omar lying on the lab floor convulsing in a pool of water mixed with blood. Julia, desperate to engage in conversation, opened with a subject foremost on her heart.
“You can live up there, can't you?”
“Yes, we do.”
“What's it like?”
“You've been to the surface?” Omar looked slightly perplexed.
“Only once: when I saw you swimming to shore. No more than eight hours. Sometimes those images seem like a dream, half-remembered – a fleeting glimpse from the corner of my eye.”
“I didn't realise,” replied Omar. “You came to look for me? My God, I had no idea.” Omar was lost for words and his voice trembled slightly – enough for Julia to hear.
“We get eight hours topside for the whole of our lives. In thirty years' time, we will get sixteen hours – once the radiation levels drop.” Julia took the topic back to her original question. She really wanted to know, “What's it like living on the surface? We only dream of it.”
“Nothing is constant. Nothing is controlled. Nothing stays the same. The Earth is wild. We have wind and rain, and sometimes snow. Day and night. The trees bud green in spring and summer but turn to russet in autumn and seem dead in winter. I hate swimming – none of us can swim – but I love to watch the waves and the tide. We are surrounded by the forces of nature and we live at their mercy.”
“Then there are more of you?” Logically, there had to be, of course. It was a stupid question really.
“Yes. We are twelve families. I am Omar son of James.” There was particular emphasis – even pride – in naming his father. To Julia, though, it was an alien sensation. She had no sense of pride when she thought of her life in the Ark. She longed for a sense of connection. Perhaps being part of a family brought that.
“Do you have brothers … or sisters?”
“Yes, I have. Two brothers and six sisters.” Julia gagged. Nine! Nine children. She could not imagine such a family. The Ark did not permit it. It could not happen.
“You seem surprised I come from such a large family – though, in truth, they are my cousins but we were raised together. Don't you have brothers and sisters?”
“No. It's not like that here. We don't have families...” Julia was momentarily reflective but shook it off and continued, “Where do you live? Do you know its old name? We have maps and photographs in our library. I'd love to look it up.” Omar was slightly taken aback by her burst of enthusiasm but replied:
“We move from place-to-place. There are the ancient cities that once were home to millions – so my uncle tells me. When I was young, we lived in what was called Beirut, I think. It's beside the ocean and that's where I got my love for watching waves. I spent hours throwing stones in the water and walking along the sand with the waves lapping my feet. We travelled to Alexandria where a wide river runs into the ocean. There was once a towering lighthouse that could be seen far out to sea to guide the boats safely into harbour. It was there that I got the idea to build a boat and sail across the ocean to find you. None of us had done anything like it. I realise now that I had a crazy dream that exceeded my courage. When I was struggling to get to shore, my sole memory is total fear and desperation. I have never felt such an emotion. I believe I would have died had you not found me.”
Julia listened in awe. She had so many questions rising within. “Did you come by yourself? Were you alone?”
“Yes, alone. I sailed alone.”
“Sail in what? I didn't see a boat – I think it may have sunk.”
“Ah. I feared as much. I will have to build a new one – that might delay my return home.”
“You make me think of Ulysses and his adventures returning home from the siege of Troy. Do you know the story?”
“I feel more like the Trojan Paris.” Julia was both elated to find someone who knew and possibly shared her passion for the ancient stories she found and tended in the Ark library but she could not fathom Omar's enigmatic reply. Paris was the younger Prince of Troy who sailed to Greece and with whom Queen Helen eloped. She was the most beautiful woman of her day – or so the legend went. Her husband, Menelaus, stirred up all of Greece and pursued her, burning Troy to the ground.
“You've read Homer? That's remarkable!”
“I've not read it. My uncles recite the stories around the camp fire. The story of Ulysses lasts many evenings. Also, I've been to Troy. I've walked among the ruins. If you close your eyes and still your heart, you can still hear the struggle of Achilles and Hector.” Julia felt weltering emotions. She hated the Ark. She hated its confines and strictures. She wanted rid of its straight-jacket and petty rules. She dreamed of freedom. To come and go at will; to walk in the ancient places. Julia remembered the bright light, the warmth of the sun and the wind. Those few hours spent topside now burned within her. She knew without compromise that she was born to live on the Earth and not in a hole. She could no longer tolerate her boxed-in, sterile existence. Omar survived up there – why couldn't she?
&n
bsp; “Will you take me?” Julia was unaware she had uttered these words aloud and they were so softly spoken that Omar barely heard them.
“Sorry,” asked Omar. “What did you say? You seem distracted or tired. Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” Julia smiled and she looked at her watch. “But I really I must go now. It's great to see you recovering. I'll look up photographs of Beirut and I'll be back again tomorrow. Right now, I do have work to do.” She was overly exuberant and it rang false to Julia and it grated on her but she was desperate to get out. She had thoughts and emotions that she needed to resolve and sitting listening to Omar caused her sense of self to be scattered. She was no longer sure who she was or what she was capable of. She stood up and left. After sitting for hours staring at photographs of Beirut, she longed to go there. It offered somewhere to escape to – somewhere away from the Ark.
Chapter 30
National Secure Archive Facility
Julia had visited Omar the night before. He was worse again. Julia thought his hair might be falling out – it looked thinner and his face looked paler. He had barely spoken to her but continually mumbled about other water. He showed her a rough orange rope that had been tied into a tight loop at one end and was cut and frayed at the other. He had tried to speak about the rope but constantly shivered and stuttered. Julia could understand nothing. She felt uncomfortable to see him and she cut the visit short. Before she left, Omar pressed into her hand the rope. Somehow it was significant – it meant something. Julia could only look at it and gape.
Julia slept badly. She was disturbed and troubled. In her mind she saw the rope again and again. She was frustrated at not sleeping. She willed herself to sleep but it was useless. The rope. It seemed familiar but she could not place it. The orange rope loop. At last, towards morning, she lapsed into a deep sleep.
In the morning, Julia rose and got herself washed and ready. She had another long day working in the library. As she prepared to go down to the canteen for breakfast she caught sight of a book on her shelf. The spine was bright orange. The colour triggered the memory of a dream. In her dream she saw an orange rope snaking across the sand. The sand was white beach sand, pierced by rough grass. She followed the rope. In her dream the rope was stretched along the sand seemingly endless. It ran over sand dunes in dizzy squiggles. She reached a high dune that she could not see over. She knew the rope ended on the other side. With trepidation, she climbed and scrabbled up the dune. It seemed higher to climb than when she looked up from the beach. She gripped the rope and pulled herself up. After an effort of several minutes she reached the top and looked down. The rope ran down the dune to a figure lying headlong on the sand. The man might have been Omar. She felt it was but it did not resemble him. As she rolled and scrambled down, the man smiled. The orange rope was tied around his ankle. Then she remembered. The orange rope was tied round Omar's ankle when she found him on the beach. She picked up the loop he had given her the night before. She gripped it in her hands. The tactile roughness worked on her memory. She smelled the salty beach. The other end of the rope was tied to a large white canister. Omar was asking her about the white canister. That must be what the rope meant.
The Nephilim Protocol Page 14
