She scanned the shoreline. “Yeah, I see them. Eva, we need to—”
“Allie, please,” Calder said. “Can you hold off with the chatter? I can’t hear myself think.”
He was vexed by the canal authority’s radio silence.
Answer, dammit, answer.
“Suez Authority, this is Joshua One. Can you read me? Over.”
The radio was swamped with static.
We’re running out of time!
“Suez Authority, this is Joshua One. Can you read me? Over.”
The mission is finished unless I—
“Calder, look!” Allie shouted. “Out the windshield to the right, on the bank.”
He turned and saw a short man dressed in a military uniform waving with both arms.
What the—?
“I think he wants you to pull over there,” she said.
“You gotta be kidding me!”
Calder steered Hero toward the waving officer. By the time he gained the shore and lifted the canopy, he was ready to kill someone.
“Ahoy!” said the little officer. He was muscular and dark-skinned. “Dr. Sinclair, I presume?”
Control yourself.
“Yes. Are you in charge? We’re in a hurry. There’s no time to lose.”
“Yes, yes, we know. The radio is not working. We’re just about ready for you. Only one ship remains in the way. Our tugs are pushing it to the side now. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Allie, wh—going on?” Eva said.
The radio reception was a bit better but still barely intelligible. Allie quickly brought her producer up to speed.
“Allie, listen. Mike t—s me the pres—ent and others have been st—fed into a sub—arine for their pr—ection, for g—s sake. Everyone’s pan—king because they don’t th—you’re gonna make it.”
Allie felt faint. “Where are you right now?”
“Inside C—r’s lab. It’s packed w—people.”
“And Stu?”
“In New Y—k, at the stud—, where else? The—ld diehard.”
“You gotta be. . . . Tell him to get down to the basement. It’s crazy for him to be at the studio.”
“So are you go—g to film the rep—t or what? It’s bet—than ju—ting around waiting.”
Allie agreed to do a hurried interview of the military man from inside Hero. The Egyptian TV crew chose a spot on the shore with the canal entrance framed behind him.
AA: “There’s less than a half hour before the CME hits and we’ve made it as far as the Suez Canal. With me now is Navy Captain Farouk El Akba. He’s been put in charge of making sure the canal is clear before we head into it. Sir, can you tell us how much longer it will be?”
FE: “Yes, good morning. I think it will be only a few minutes more.”
He was interrupted by someone calling him. He spoke in Arabic but she could tell from his large, animated gestures that he wasn’t happy. When he was done, she resumed her questioning.
AA: “Bad news?”
FE: “No, no, everything is fine. Please, continue.”
AA: “Tell us about the canal. What do we face here?”
FE: “We affectionately call it the Ditch because it is long, narrow, and shallow. Roughly 120 miles long and 197 feet wide at its narrowest point.”
AA: “So there’s room for only one ship to pass through at a time. Is that the problem?”
FE: “Well, I wouldn’t call it a problem. But, yes, there is only one shipping lane. Still, there are several widened places along the way where a ship can pull over and allow another ship to pass. We call them passing bays.”
In the background Allie could hear the constant, harried-sounding chatter on the captain’s walkie-talkie.
AA: “And so that’s what you’re doing right now, making sure all the ships inside the canal are pushed off to the side?”
FE: “Yes, exactly. And there is only one ship left in the lane, but that is almost done.”
AA: “How long does it usually take for a ship to make it through the canal?”
FE: Well, first of all, let me say there are no locks in the Suez Canal. It’s all at sea level so that helps speed things along. But the really big ships—let us say 200,000 tons fully loaded—they’re naturally pretty slow. It usually takes them about fifteen hours to get through. At any rate, we do not normally allow ships to go too fast because their wakes speed up the erosion of the canal’s dikes.”
AA: “But in our case—”
FE: “Of course, of course, in your case Dr. Sinclair has been given special permission to go as fast as he wishes. Of course.”
Once again he was interrupted by a voice on the walkie-talkie. The voice sounded flustered. When the conversation was finished, she could see clearly, even though her monitor was tiny, that the captain was sporting a giant, Cheshire-cat-like smile.
CHAPTER 49
ALL CLEAR
TUESDAY, MAY 2 (11:08 A.M. EASTERN EUROPEAN TIME)
SUEZ CANAL; SUEZ, EGYPT
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 0 HOURS 20 MINUTES
‘‘Be safe!” yelled the captain. He was standing on the shoreline waving good-bye. “Go with Allah!”
Calder lowered and locked the windshield. A few moments later the Q-thruster started up without difficulty—but a light indicated trouble with the navigation system.
Son of a . . . No!
Calder hesitated. Most likely the high-speed atomic particles at the CME’s leading edge were already interfering with the GPS satellites, on which Hero’s nav system relied. Hero had backups—dead reckoning and stellar navigation programs—but they were useless in this situation.
He made up his mind.
“Allie, hang on! I’m taking over the steering. It could get a little crazy.”
Allie braced herself for takeoff but couldn’t remove her eyes from the sky. It was now looking like the ruffled dresses worn by Mexican hat dancers—red on top, bright green below.
If things continued worsening, she knew, the aurora would morph from red and green with yellow highlights to pinkish-purple, the most dangerous color of all. When that happened—if that happened—it would mean the CME’s charged particles had completely broken through Earth’s defenses and made it all the way to the lower atmosphere, where collisions with the nitrogen molecules always produced a purplish light. The barrage of atomic particles would then bombard the earth’s surface with the force of innumerable nuclear bombs—something that had never happened before, not even in the Carrington event.
Her thoughts flew to Lolo—her family—the church basement.
Will it hold?
“I trust you, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, choking back tears. “I—I surrender them to you.”
Calder, right hand wrapped firmly around the joystick, used his left to push the throttle forward. Hero leapt into the Suez Canal, knocking him back against the seat.
People waving and saluting him along the shore, the vast desert terrain on both sides of the Ditch—punctuated by palm trees and clusters of small buildings—large ships of every description sidelined out of harm’s way in the passing bays: it all whizzed past him faster and faster as Hero gained speed.
Moments later the throttle reached its limit; Hero’s speed leveled off. He glanced at the speed log: 446 knots. At that rate—his mind rapidly crunched the numbers—it would take fourteen minutes to get through the Ditch and another thirteen minutes to reach the centroid.
He stared straight ahead, staving off any thoughts of defeat.
Better late than never.
TUESDAY, MAY 2 (6:43 P.M. CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN STANDARD TIME)
CHARLES DARWIN UNIVERSITY; CASUARINA, AUSTRALIA
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 0 HOURS 15 MINUTES
Sara stroked Lulu’s face, grateful her chubby little black-and-white charge was calm again.
“Don’t worry, girl, I’m not leaving you.”
Her faculty advisor and friends, including Dirk, had pleaded with her to evacuate, to flee wi
th them to the basements of the university’s tallest, most massive buildings. But she refused, and in the end Dirk opted to stay behind as well.
“Is your dad just as stubborn?” He was standing next to her, leaning against Lulu’s tank. His tense face and pale lips telegraphed anxiety.
“Yup.” She bent into the tank and kissed Lulu on the forehead. “How do you think he’s managed to survive all these years? The critics, the setbacks. Any normal person would’ve given up a long time ago. But not my dad. And not me either.”
Dirk looked away and then back again. “He’s quite a guy, your dad. Thank you for letting me meet him.” He reached out and patted Lulu on the flanks. “But I feel sorry for you.”
She reared her head. “For me? Why? Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re never going to find a man who measures up to your dad’s standards.”
Sara, uncertain of what to say, turned her gaze outdoors. The sun was setting, but the sky wasn’t darkening on account of the brightening aurorae. The red and green colors looked garish, dangerous.
She shivered, thinking of her dad being out there somewhere, unprotected.
Dad, I love you.
Her attention was shanghaied by a sudden, preternatural silence. She stood stock-still and listened. It reminded her of what it was like just before a tornado, when even birds stopped singing.
The eerie stillness was broken by a loud popping sound to her left. Turning toward it, she saw sparks shooting out from a nearby high-voltage transformer. It looked like a Roman candle on the Fourth of July.
“Sara!” Dirk said, his widened eyes filled with alarm. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
She rounded on him. “What did I just tell you?!”
TUESDAY, MAY 2 (12:18 P.M. ISRAEL DAYLIGHT TIME)
CHAPEL OF THE ASCENSION; JERUSALEM, ISRAEL
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 0 HOURS 10 MINUTES
Lorena stood her ground, while everyone around her jockeyed for position.
“Stop shoving, please!” she cried out. “Give me some room to breathe.”
After regaining the use of her legs in the wee hours of the morning, she’d made straight for the Chapel of the Ascension, located next to the Mount of Olives Hotel. She wanted a front-row seat to the greatest comeback story in human history.
Belatedly, everyone was catching on to what was happening and trying to muscle in on her space. People were flocking in from the hotel, from downtown Jerusalem, from everywhere in order to catch a glimpse of the returning Messiah. She marveled at the diversity of their faces and skin tones.
They spoke in languages she didn’t understand. But from the snippets of English she was able to pick out from the babble, it was clear everyone was gushing about the Second Coming, about how lucky they were to be here, the very spot where Jesus rose to heaven and promised to return.
She also gathered the Temple Mount was being overrun. By Jews, as well as by Muslims, who were crowding into the Mount’s Al-Aqsa mosque and Dome of the Rock, where Mohammed was said to have ascended to heaven.
To each his own.
She elbowed a man next to her who had terrible body odor.
“Please, give me room!”
Someone a short distance from the chapel began shouting. It was a woman’s voice, in a language Lorena couldn’t identify.
Could this be it?
Another shout, father away, made her muscles tighten. Perhaps Jesus decided to change venues!
“What?” she shouted. “What’s happening?”
No one answered.
“I said, what’s happening? Someone please answer me!”
She heard a sizzling sound. It took her a moment to realize the air around her was crackling with electricity, the way a woolen sweater did when pulled from a dryer.
“Come on, already, sweet Jesus!” she moaned ecstatically. “Come to us, come to us, now!”
CHAPTER 50
FINAL RECKONING
TUESDAY, MAY 2 (11:21 A.M. EASTERN EUROPEAN TIME)
SUEZ CANAL; SUEZ, EGYPT
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 0 HOURS 7 MINUTES
Now that he was doing the driving, 446 knots seemed mighty fast. For the past thirteen minutes, he’d kept his eyes glued forward, knowing one slip of the hand, a single distraction, could spell the end of the mission. But now, entering the final stretch, Calder allowed himself a quick peek at the sky.
The orangish air was roiling with swirls, jets, and curtains of red, yellow, and green.
No violet.
Quickly resuming his forward gaze, he caught sight of something that electrified him: a tugboat on the visual horizon appeared to be in the shipping lane.
Before he could react, the tug whizzed past, accompanied by a heavy thud and the unmistakable sensation of a sidelong collision.
“What was that?” Allie said.
He held his breath, expecting the worst. As a precaution—even though he’d planned to do it only when he arrived at the centroid—he quickly switched on the jamming device and turned up the volume full blast.
Hero kept charging forward and soon he successfully steered her out of the canal. He pressed on the throttle, but it was already wide open.
We can still do this!
Abruptly, he was slammed back in his seat.
What the—?
The sudden, high G force smothered his face like a monster-sized hand. He willed his darkening gaze to focus on the speed log, but its numerals were a blur. He could hear Allie’s unintelligible cries coming from behind him, but his mouth was unable to form any words. His scrambled thoughts labored to connect the dots.
Then he knew.
Whatever his earlier repairs to the supersonic booster hadn’t achieved, the apparent glancing collision with the tugboat provoked. He strained with all his might to reach out and pull back on the throttle.
Nothing!
Hero had reverted to her catatonic state and was careening across the Mediterranean, toward Amman, in an accelerating, supersonic tailspin.
Frantically, he went through the motions of trying to bring her under control, but of course nothing worked.
He looked up at the sky.
Oh, god, no!
The CME had arrived.
TUESDAY, MAY 2 (12:23 P.M. ISRAEL DAYLIGHT TIME)
MEDITERRANEAN SEA
IMPACT
Allie’s skin crawled at the sight of purple in the aurora’s ruffled hemline, which now danced ominously just above the water. It meant the CME was smashing through Earth’s weakened defenses sooner than Dallan predicted.
But he wasn’t entirely wrong. From the looks of it, this CME was indeed destined for the history books.
Pinned to her seat like a biological specimen, she struggled to keep from blacking out. She wanted to ask Calder what was happening with Hero, but despite her best efforts she couldn’t get her mouth to work.
Calder would be happy to know that.
Oh, dear Jesus, why did you bring us out here?
Her harried mind involuntarily formed a sickening picture of the destruction crashing down on their heads. On Calder and on her. On her family in the church basement. On her baby sis out there somewhere. On Eva and on Stu.
On the world.
Surely not to fail.
Then it came to her—a possibility that rattled her soul like a thunderclap.
Yes, precisely to fail.
TUESDAY, MAY 2 (6:53 P.M. CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN STANDARD TIME)
CHARLES DARWIN UNIVERSITY; CASUARINA, AUSTRALIA
IMPACT
Sara was questioning her decision to stay with Lulu. But it was too late. The sky was now so bright—the dazzling, threatening flames were dancing all around, hissing and crackling—she and Dirk needed to don sunglasses for protection.
“What are we going to do?!” Dirk yelled. He and Sara were sitting on the cement floor, backs against Lulu’s tank, facing away from the outside. “We can’t just stay here. We’re sitting ducks!”
/> Their problem was the holding tanks area of the rescue center was protected by what amounted to an oversized pop-up tent: a vast, corrugated tin roof held up by heavy-gauge Lally columns. It had no walls, only an open view of the university campus to the west and east, and of the ocean to the north.
“But Lulu’s a sitting duck too!” Sara protested.
As if on cue, Lulu began thrashing around inside the tank. Springing up for a quick peek at what was happening, Sara shied at the sight of plummeting drapes of red, yellow, green, and purple light all around her. There were loud bangs everywhere. Sparks, then flames, burst forth throughout the sprawling campus. A split second later the university’s tallest structures—the library clock tower most of all—glowed with a dazzling, violet-blue halo.
“Dirk! Dirk! Oh, my god, c’mon!”
Without thinking, she dove into Lulu’s tank and surfaced immediately, her face and hair dripping with sea water. She looked around for Dirk but didn’t see him.
“Dirk!”
She spotted him on the beach, running like the wind toward the sea.
What? What’s he—?
“Dirk, nooo! Come back!”
She saw him stumble and fall. Felt a familiar queasiness taking hold of her body, as it had that morning. But she didn’t collapse again, which confused her. She flexed her arms and legs and quickly it came to her: the water’s buoyancy was keeping her upright.
From her right came the sound of explosions. Whipping around, she saw massive showers of golden sparks shooting out from among the flames now engulfing the university.
A shadow swept across the region, plunging the rescue center into a spooky twilight. Angling her gaze upward, Sara saw the cause. The ballooning cloud of black smoke from the campus-wide conflagration was rising high enough to obscure the sun.
The sudden duskiness did nothing to mask the blinding, rambling, red-green-violet aurora pulsing overhead. The scene reminded her of wild, 1960s-syle frat party videos on YouTube.
The Null Prophecy Page 32
