Only one destination had come to mind, and he'd chosen it almost without thinking. The computer's readout display periodically flashed on-screen with the time and distance remaining until he reached his destination. The time remained frozen, but the second readout said 2,811 km- 2,811 kilometers to go.
In their arrogance, the Secretum had never bothered installing security measures within the Conveyor system. They believed that no one from the surface would ever be able to find it-or if they did, it would not deter the Secretum's plans-so why bother securing it?
Ethan's escape from the Secretum's city had been narrow; Oblivion emerged from below just as Ethan was starting up the stairs that led to the alcove high above. He tried not to think about what would have happened to him if he'd been discovered by Oblivion. Just like he tried not to think about what was happening to his Ringwearing friends right now.
Oblivion ... he thought, the name new in his mind. He'd first heard it less than two days ago when he was abducted and drafted into a covert agency, which operated unimpeded by local or even national jurisdictions. The world had become unpredictable, unencumbered by rules. They seemed a better hope in such a world than the CIA or his former employer, the FBI.
Oblivion has come. It's really happening. Everything I was told ... It's all true, and it's all happening.
Right now.
His new superiors hadn't given him a contingency plan, in case he couldn't get to Substation Omega Prime and stop what was destined to happen in time. They placed so much responsibility on his shoulders so fast ... It was almost as if they knew he would fail. Knew there was no way to stop what was destined to happen.
Then why send me at all?
I am the lowest guy on the totem pole. Guess that makes me expendable.
Still, something felt wrong about it. Ethan was an unknown quantity to them. Wasn't he?
Had they known he would be too late? That Oblivion would emerge shortly after he arrived?
But that would mean they meant for me to see him, to witness it in person ... But why?
An old feeling returned. Ethan's thoughts went back to his last few days with the FBI, when he'd received cryptic messages that put him on the path to finding Grant Borrows and his friends. That path had led him to resign from the FBI, only to find himself picked up by this mysterious group he knew very little about.
Was it all part of the same path? Was he still being guided along by his anonymous benefactor?
If so ... to what end?
He looked up again.
A new idea occurred to him. At first, he brushed it aside impulsively. But then his sense of responsibility kicked in.
A cellular phone call was out of the question-he was traveling at supersonic speeds underground. Not to mention the fact that the earth's satellites had entered deteriorating orbits and would eventually burn up in the atmosphere.
Ethan glanced around. Beside each seat in the Pod was what looked like a high-tech communications terminal, complete with a twelve-inch LED screen. He touched the screen and it blinked to life, presenting him with several options. After a bit of toying with the device, he decided it was a secure communications system, apparently used by members of the Secretum. It took more work to find out how it operated: some kind of advanced, underground communications telemetry based on sonar technology, of all things.
With a little fast thinking, Ethan was able to trick the system into hacking its sonar-based signal into a telephone landline on the surface.
After a familiar dial tone emerged from the device's speakers, Ethan punched in a phone number that provided privileged access to the Hoover Building in Washington, D.C.
He sighed, dreading this conversation almost as much as he'd dreaded encountering Oblivion.
2,440 kilometers.
"Code in, please," answered a male voice on the other end.
Ethan rolled his eyes. He no longer had any valid codes. "This is former special agent Ethan Cooke. I need to speak to Director Stevens immediately. Tell her ... tell her I have intelligence on what's happening to the world's measurements of time."
A noteworthy pause later, the man replied, "One moment, sir."
Ethan watched the clock count down to 2,203 kilometers before Stevens's curt voice spoke into his ear.
"This better be good, Mr. Cooke," she said, putting extra emphasis on the mister. "You've just pulled me out of a briefing with the Joint Chiefs, so skip the pleasantries and tell me what you know. If it's good enough, I might not have you hunted down as a deserter with a `kill on sight' order."
Ethan ignored her threats. This conversation was necessary to keep the U.S.-or anyone else-from making a terrible mistake.
"Whatever your scientists are telling you about time having stopped moving forward-however outrageous it sounds, I can verify that it's one hundred percent true."
"And how do you know-?"
"Later," he said, cutting her off. "The source of the phenomenon is a person. A single, superhuman individual capable of inconceivable power. An individual currently located in the nation of Turkey."
"And do you know who this individual is? Consider your reply very carefully, Mr. Stevens. You may not be under my command anymore, but you did take an oath to uphold the sanctity and sovereignty of this nation. I would advise you to keep-"
"Listen to me very carefully, Director," Ethan said with urgency, as static intruded upon her words. When it cleared, he continued. "I am calling you to urge you not to advise the president to take military action against this individual-no matter what happens next. Hear me clearly on this, because I can't possibly overstate it: There is no power in the arsenal of mankind capable of harming this man. Any action taken against him is tantamount to condemning the entire planet to destruction. No matter how many men or weapons you throw at him, it will never be enough. Do not engage this target. Do you understand me?"
A pause. "I want to know who this `target' you seem to know so much about is," Stevens replied. "If he even exists, which I'm not entirely inclined to take your word about."
"I don't know anything about him," Ethan lied. He knew quite a lot about Oblivion, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He didn't know everything, though.
He looked up at the readout again. 1,972 kilometers to his destination.
"You're not a good liar, Mr. Cooke," Stevens replied at last. "I believe you that this mystery man exists, if for no other reason than you're so intent on keeping his identity from me. Which leads me to conclude that your friend Guardian is connected to all of this."
"Trust me," Ethan retorted, "this has nothing to do with Guardian."
Stevens hmphed in his ear. "I'll see about confirming your ... intel ... And I'll take your counsel under advisement. But I promise you, Cooke, if I find out that Guardian is connected in any way to this, I will personally deliver his head and yours to the president on the shiniest platter in Washington."
Click.
No...
Payton emerged from the secret entrance to the underground city behind Grant, the Secretum, and the Loci. The path led out into the open night sky of the Taurus Mountains.
They were very high up, so high that he didn't have to attempt to move his neck to be able to see the clouds rolling violently, churning and boiling. Fire seared the clouds, licking at its edges. It was a colossal sight, the entire sky offering its angry protest at what the world was becoming. It left Payton feeling tiny, like a single grain of dirt, in comparison.
A hot wind blew across the steep mountain slope, and Payton, still in thrall to Grant's commands, was also able to see that the phenomenon turning the earth black as ash had followed them from below. Even now it was creeping outward from the spot where they stood. The storm above seemed to grow to the same proportions as the dark earth below it spreading outward; the storm was keeping perfect pace with the changes to the ground.
No, that wasn't quite right. It was creeping outward from the place where Grant stood. He was the epicenter of thiswhatever this
was. Wherever he moved, the earth seemed to die and turn black, like the inside of a volcano, and the black death radiated outward from his position, consuming every piece of dirt or sand or stone in its path. Even the sparse trees and plant life here in the Taurus Mountains turned to ash and became dehydrated, dying fast once the blackness touched them.
Payton took all of this in, in the merest fraction of a moment, and it changed everything for him. His thoughts, his desires, his attitude-it all shifted now. Because while he had no frame of reference for the phenomenon happening to the ground beneath his feet, he knew exactly what was happening in the skies overhead. He'd witnessed it before. As had most of the other Ringwearers.
It was the firestorm. The very same firestorm that had blistered the skies over Los Angeles several months ago, the day Grant had squared off against his grandfather.
It was happening again. Whatever had happened to Grant, whatever the Secretum had done to him, or he'd become-this was exactly what Grant's grandfather was trying to achieve back in L.A. Where Maximilian Borrows had failed, Devlin had succeeded. But Grant wouldn't be stopping the storm this time, reining it in with his emotions. It would be allowed to roam free, unabated, consuming the skies above the entire world.
He caught sight of Devlin, hovering at Grant's right hand with reverence and self-importance, as if it were a place reserved just for him.
The old git's loving every minute of this, Payton thought of his former mentor.
Payton silently vowed to choke the old man to death with his bare hands the second Grant released his hold over the Ringwearers.
But that was assuming Grant would release the Ringwearers from his thrall. At the moment, Payton had every reason to believe that his existence from this point on would continue just as it currently was. An automaton, slave to Grant's will. Forever trapped inside his own mind, with no means of escape. Very likely he would die this way, and he cursed every single person he could think of-including himself-at this most bitter of thoughts. He was a warrior. Anything less than a death earned by a superior opponent was an unworthy means of passing into whatever awaited beyond.
But why were he and the others being made to suffer this way? There had to be a purpose to all of this, but he had no idea what it might be.
Grant began to walk. The Secretum fell in behind him at once, whispering among themselves and casting nervous glances at the Loci marching lifelessly behind them.
All of this was Devlin's doing. And Grant's. How could Grant have allowed this to happen? He was a smart man; perhaps a little idealistic, but Payton knew him to be decent and noble, and not entirely unclever. Now they were marching as one, in a very long line, and who knew where their walking would come to an end.
Was this all Grant's fault? Whatever had happened to change him this way ... had Grant had the chance to turn away from this fate, and refused to do so? Or was he powerless against destiny's plans, powerless from the very moment of his birth?
Payton thought to himself that he would probably never know. He couldn't save or destroy Grant. He was incapable of doing anything except walking, which his body was doing once again, following Grant.
Payton had no answers, and no hope. But he had his anger, and that was something he knew how to use. He would be the one to stop Grant. Somehow, he would find a way to get free from Grant's hold. He would stop this thing wearing Grant's body from changing the entire world into whatever he was changing it into. He would kill Devlin and the rest of the Secretum and put a final end to their scheming and plotting.
And he would save his friend Grant Borrows from this fate, by bringing a swift and painless end to the man's life. Once and for all.
A first hint of rain touched his cheeks. At last, some good news. The suffocating heat that seemed to emanate from Grant would finally meet its match and be forced to cool a little. Those clouds up above, spitting fire and keeping the skies in unending darkness, were good for something after all.
Unable to move or flinch at the cool caress of the water, he didn't notice its appearance until the liquid began soaking into the clothes of the people around him. The smell was powerful and sickening. Payton recognized it at once. Some of the Secretum members were frightened by what was raining upon them, while others like Devlin turned their heads skyward and outstretched their arms, rejoicing and reveling in the moment.
Grant continued to lead their march up ahead, oblivious to the sky pouring out thick red fluid on them all, soaking their hair and clothes down to the skin.
Somewhere far away in the distance, a terror-filled scream could be heard.
It was raining blood.
"WHO ARE You?" GRANT called out into the darkness.
"I've been close to you since the day you were born," said the voice. He didn't quite recognize it, but there was something familiar about it.
"I don't understand," Grant said.
"Wiser words have never passed beyond your lips," replied the voice. "For this is the reason you are here: to understand. To see the truth for what it really is."
"Where am I?" Grant asked. "I need to get out of here! My friends, they're in danger-"
"No way out," the voice replied, unconcerned with Grant's pleas. "You are far outside of mortal existence. It would be easier for you, in the long run, to disconnect yourself now from such concerns."
"What is this place? What's happening to me?"
The voice laughed. "Did you think the bottom of that hole led to some sort of bright, shining place full of puppies and rainbows and laughing children? Far from it, Grant. Far from it."
Grant nearly snapped. He was terrified now, shivering even though there was no sensation of temperature here.
"I believe you are familiar with an object humankind calls `the Dominion Stone'?" the voice asked.
"Yes. It predicted ... well, it predicted me."
"Indeed. But it predicted a great deal more. You never read all of it, did you?"
"It was stolen before I had the chance. Then I broke it-"
"No, no. It was broken already, long ago, and then reassembled by your friend Morgan. You merely disassembled the pieces that day you shoved it off of its easel in your grandfather's presence. The Stone is made of a substance harder than diamond. You couldn't have broken it, even with the powers you possessed."
"Then how was it broken?"
"What if I told you I broke it?"
"Then that would tell me that you're powerful, but I already knew that: You're talking to me when I'm dead. Now, either tell me what you want with me, or let me out of here," Grant said.
"There is no `out,' Grant," replied the disembodied voice. "I've already told you this. You're dead. Your mortal life is over. Regarding what I want ... I want you to see the truth."
"What truth?"
"You have known great power, Grant Borrows. Power beyond that of any mortal man who ever lived and breathed. But now the entire universe has paused, holding its collective breath, watching as the fate of mankind is decided. The world that you know has arrived at a destination that was first charted more than seven thousand of your years ago. And all the power that you once knew has been stripped from you. You cannot stop what is happening, so best to put it out of your mind and focus on what's in front of you."
"There isn't anything in front of me," Grant replied, confused. He continued turning around and thought he caught a glimpse of a moving figure out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone before he could focus on it.
"Are you sure about that?"
The voice was closer this time. Grant turned, trying to find his sole companion in this empty place. He disliked this newcomer already. "Stop playing games and show yourself!" he demanded.
From his immediate right, a figure strode into view as if walking on ground, even though there was no ground there. He stood before Grant, and Grant took him in fully, not believing his eyes.
"Finally, you've asserted yourself," the other figure replied. "It's about time."
A man stood b
efore him, relaxed and observant but also naked. He matched Grant's stance with a mirror's precision.
He was Grant.
"What would you like to talk about?" the mirror Grant spoke, while Grant looked on with widened eyes.
"Am I really dead?"
Mirror Grant almost smiled. "You keep asking this, but the answer has not changed. Yes. You are most decidedly no longer among the living."
"But I can't be dead ... I'm not finished! I have to stop the Secretum-"
Grant's rising feelings of desperation had just reached a new peak when the other man held up a hand to cut him off, a curious expression on his face.
"Why is it, Grant Borrows, that you assume death is the end?"
London
Ethan trudged up the outdoor steps. There had been nowhere left to go.
His thoughts were so far away, it was a wonder he was able to ascend the steps at all. He'd been to this place only one time before. It was the attic space formerly occupied by the "Upholders of the Crown." He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. His feet had just sort of guided themselves in this direction.
In one master stroke, the Secretum had turned the world's greatest hero into its gravest threat.
The people he'd passed on his way here, confused as they were over the stoppage of time, had no idea what was about to happen to this planet. They were already living in fear, thanks to the machinations of the Secretum: destabilization of the global economy, unleashing countless natural disasters onto the populace, boundaries and governments left in total upheaval. But all of that ... it was nothing but the warm-up.
Oblivion would bring pain, suffering, and death in unprecedented quantities. For what purpose, Ethan didn't know. But he knew it was going to be an unmatched event in human history.
Before coming here, he'd tried returning to his new superiors, but one of the quirks of their organization was that it constantly moved from place to place, never staying put for very long. It was one of their methods for keeping the Secretum (and the rest of the world) from knowing that they existed. So of course, Ethan hadn't found them waiting patiently and helpfully at the last place he'd encountered them.
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