“In here!” she hissed, and yanked Gabe after her.
The door opened when she pulled the hidden lever next to it; no DNA needed here, thank goodness, because she was already in the private section.
“Good grief. What the hell is this?” Gabe would have gaped if she hadn’t pushed him down onto the floor while she frantically jammed the button to close the door. She pulled on the heavy metal closure, trying to help it move faster. “Hide!” she whispered to Gabe as the door clicked shut. She had a bad feeling.
She was right. She’d recognized Lev’s voice; and she’d sensed he’d want to check the safety of his library, knowing that the prisoners had escaped.
Marina and Gabe scuttled along the floor, behind the cabinets and tables, into a far corner of the room as the door opened again.
She recognized the voices right away. They were speaking English.
“They won’t get far, Sama Lev. There are only three ways out, of course, and we have them all monitored.” Varden. Marina mouthed his name silently for Gabe’s benefit. The sound of his voice, smooth and cool, slid over Marina’s taut nerves like the bow on a violin; much too soothing and calm.
“Yes. They won’t harm her, will they?” Lev. Sounding more than a bit concerned for his granddaughter. Marina felt Gabe turn to look at her in the dim light, but she did not move. She wanted to hear more.
“I do not believe Roman would do such a thing; however, that is not to say that there might be a skirmish of some sort and she could be injured. She was carrying a firearm.”
“Where in Gaia’s world did she get one of those? Roman has banned all forms of firearm here.”
Marina imagined Varden’s shrug, and had to keep herself from sliding to one side and try to watch them. She must be content with listening to the conversation, all the while knowing she was only inches away from priceless history. She wasn’t sure which called to her more: the hidden secrets of this incredible treasure, or the need to stop Roman from carrying out his plan.
As if her thoughts had telegraphed themselves to the men in the room, Lev spoke. “How long until Roman’s next phase is executed?”
“Two hours. Two hours and thirteen minutes,” Varden replied after a short pause. “The detonators are in place. Fridkov is there, and has the controllers and is to set the timers at 11:30 am Detroit time. Then it will be inevitable.”
Two hours and thirteen minutes.
Marina looked at Gabe, but he was already moving.
“Freeze.” His voice cut through the room. “Raise your hands slowly. Both of you.”
Marina didn’t move for a moment. Then she pulled to her feet and faced the others.
Varden stood, managing to hold his surrender stance in such a manner that bellowed disinterest and unconcern, despite the fact that his position was one of vulnerability. Marina could feel the weight of his sharp stare spearing her from across the room, and she returned it with one of her own.
Lev’s arms trembled with the effort of holding them upright; and when Marina transferred her attention to him, she saw worry and apprehension lining his face. It wasn’t for their plans; it was for the contents of this room. She caught his eye and gave him a spare, meaningful look that she hoped conveyed … .something. Her understanding, her empathy.
But Gabe was either unaware of the undercurrent, or didn’t care. He’d started toward the two men, keeping the gun focused on them as he moved. “Thank you for your cooperation. It’s not my intent to hurt anyone; but there will be consequences if you don’t continue to cooperate. You may start by taking us to a room which will allow us to communicate with the colleague that you mentioned was in Detroit.”
He brandished the gun, and Varden, with one cool look at Marina, turned slowly, hands raised but cocked arrogantly to the sides of his body, and started toward the door. With a jerk of his head, Gabe indicated that Lev was to follow.
Marina fell into step, taking her time, desperate to have a moment … just a moment alone with the documents in the room. She paused, running her splayed hands over the glass casing of a brown, cracked parchment.
This one was Sumerian. An unrolled scroll with some ancient secret that was only centimeters away.
Her fingers itched. Literally itched: to touch it. To study it.
But no. She couldn’t.
She swallowed the lust and followed the three men out of the library, taking care to secure the door closed behind them.
She would find a way to come back.
Lev and Varden walked down the hall, further into the private area. Marina wondered where Roman was. And what Gabe’s plan was for when they arrived in the control room.
As they walked along the hall, Marina marked the number of doors; there weren’t any hallway offshoots. She began to notice different patterns on the walls—some décor, some small shelving or hangings; as if it really were living quarters.
They rounded a corner, and everything happened very quickly: Varden ducked to one side, slamming into something on the wall that caused a shrill shrieking to blast her ears; then rolling into Gabe’s feet. The force and his weakened leg caught him off-guard, and Gabe was thrown off-balance. He tumbled into the wall, and then onto the floor. The gun reported sharply in the small space, then skittered across and down the hall. And before Marina could react, a strong arm snaked out and yanked her back into a solid body.
Varden. Dammit, Varden.
He wasn’t even breathing hard, and he held her easily, one arm around her neck and another looped through both of her arms, forced behind her back. “Leave it there,” he commanded as Gabe started to reach for the weapon he’d dropped. “Lev. Please hand me the firearm.”
Gabe pulled himself up, unable to stifle a groan as he slid up from the floor along the wall. The look he sent Marina was one of frustration and fury.
She could barely catch his eye, she was so completely aware of the man holding her. When Lev handed him the gun, she tensed, expecting to have the barrel jammed into her back and forced to walk along the hallway; but instead, Varden turned the gun toward Gabe and pulled the trigger.
-41-
July 14, 2007
Chicago, Illinois
“It’s got to be something related to oil,” Helen growled, pacing again. Her feet hurt from being in heels since five a.m., but it didn’t slow her down. The only way to keep her brain working was to keep her feet moving. “That’s the biggest pollutant and the greatest harvester of natural resources. It makes sense.”
Colin Bergstrom, loose-tied and weary-faced, sat slumped at the desk in her office in Chicago. His sparse hair tufted in awkward waves on the top of his head. “We’ve got Homeland Security and local authorities on alert all over Texas, Nevada, and Oklahoma. The plane’s waiting—we should get down there ourselves. We’ve got less than twelve hours, and no real clue where it’s going to hit.”
“And where’s the plane going to take us? There’s a lot of oil rigs down there. I haven’t gone tearing down there because it doesn’t feel right. Oil rigs? They aren’t a powerful enough target. Big enough. They don’t make a strong enough statement; and if they were targeting oil, they’d be in Saudia Arabia or Iran. I’m thinking it’s got to be plants or factories—they targeted the chemical plants last time. Or planes. Or cars. You haven’t heard anything from MacNeil?” Frustration burned through her. And worry, though she tried to ignore it. Dammit, she knew the guy on the other side.
Knew him in every way.
Bergstrom shook his head. “No. I’ve called his sat phone several times, and it’s not turned on. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“You should have let me send my team up after them, Colin. One officer and a civilian’s all we got, and right now, it’s nothing!” Her biggest, most volatile assignment yet, and she’d bowed to the Good Old Boys Network and let a senior CIA director tell her how to run her operation.
Four older brothers and ten years in the Bureau and she’d learned diddly.
Damn h
er for a fool.
“You sent a team up there anyway.”
“I did, but we couldn’t find anything but their SUV. They’re gone, and there’s no trace of them.” Her heels were clacking like her grandma’s knitting needles working on a heavy woolen sweater. “If we could figure out what he’s holding … .let’s watch that clip again.”
She stalked over to her laptop, clicked the mouse buttons a few times, and stared at the screen. Waited for her fingers to begin their tell-tale tingling.
Roman’s face filled the screen, and she watched, her eyes narrowing, staring, hoping for something to click.
“ … Please be advised that Phase Two will be much more convincing and will have three big targets with more extensive damage—”
“Look! Did you see that?” Helen snatched up her wireless mouse—her one techie gadget because she hated cords—and clicked. The picture froze, and she backed it up slowly. “‘ … will have three big targets’—did you see how he looked down? He’s looking down at whatever he’s holding … .”
Colin had pulled himself out of her chair and crowded next to her. He smelled like too much Old Spice and cigars. “Didn’t your Tech people ever get this clip enlarged? They couldn’t figure out what it was?”
Helen grunted, impatient with herself for missing this important clue and focusing on oilrigs for too long. A few more clicks and she had another file open. “This is what Tech found for me—let’s take a look.”
She rolled the enlarged clip, which was fuzzy and dark, but the wrap of Roman’s fingers around the object was clear. Peering closer to the screen, she tilted her head, trying various angles, repeating the message over and over. “Three big targets with more extensive damage. That’s all he says. Three big targets with more—”
She slammed her hands down on the table so hard the laptop jolted. “Oh my God, that’s it! Look, Colin, look—do you see? The edge of that metal thing? It looks like a bumper. And a red taillight. He’s holding a frigging Matchbox car. Three big targets. The Big Three…now known as the Detroit Three. The auto companies. Good Lord, how could we have missed it?”
He looked at her, amazement dawning. Then it fell. “Sure. And how many auto factories are there in this country? We’ll have to get every Fed and cop in the country on call!”
“No, no, it’s the Big Three. The Detroit Three. It’s got to be—didn’t Gabe and Marina disappear from Michigan? Isn’t Alexander from Michigan? Detroit, Motown—Colin, the home of what used to be the Big Three auto company headquarters. He told us right out where and when!”
Bergstrom looked at her, nodding slowly. “Yes, that could be. That could be it.”
Helen watched him, her adrenaline pumping … she knew she was right. She knew it. And she wasn’t going to let Bergstrom sway her from what she needed to do again. Her fingers were tingling.
“I know I’m right. It feels right. It makes sense. We’ve got less than twelve hours to secure Detroit.” Calm, now, purposeful, Helen strode out the door of her office, already punching buttons on her cell phone.
-42-
July 14, 2007
Siberia
“Why is he doing this?” Marina leaned close to Lev. He smelled like an old man. Clean, a little musky, and of age—something she couldn’t define. It was strangely comforting to her.
Her grandfather looked at her with wise eyes. As before, she was struck by the peace and serenity that glowed there. “It is his calling, Marina. It is our calling. Yours too.”
They were sitting in a large room with a comma of a table along one side, studded with computer monitors like the crenellations on the top of a castle wall. Varden, Roman, and Nora clustered together around one of the glowing white screens, talking, gesturing, and alternately typing.
Command Central.
Victor had already been in the room with Roman when Varden brought Marina in, and now he sat in a chair near her and Lev, watching with appearing disinterest. He’d barely acknowledged his daughter’s presence. No more than a brief flash of a glance and then, his mouth tightening, he had turned away.
Although she wasn’t restrained, Marina felt as much a prisoner as if she had been. Varden had been clear enough when he propelled her toward the cluster of chairs and then turned to lock the door behind him. The sardonic grin he shot at her was the only warning she needed that she would be staying put.
Apparently, all of the important people were now here.
While Gabe was left to bleed in the hallway.
Marina had seen him jerk when the bullet struck, but before she could break free of Varden’s grip and rush to his side, Varden had yanked her off in an opposite direction. She had no idea where Gabe’d been hit, and what would become of him.
Her only solace, faint though it was, was that Gabe’s would-be executioner, Roman, was otherwise occupied.
And here she was, in the heart of the Skaladeska compound, about to be witness to destruction in the name of Gaia. Unless she was able to find some way to stop them.
“Calling? It’s no calling of mine to kill countless people and create massive destruction.”
“Marina, we are all a part of this earth. Slowly over the centuries and decades, she has been wasted … harmed. Gaia is part of all of us, each of us a cell in her large body. If we do not protect her, if we do not change the way we eat away at her … there will be nothing left.” Lev’s intensity bored into her, and she felt a small click of response inside.
“I love this earth as much as you, as much as anyone. But to destroy people and their lives—that defeats the purpose.”
“Does it? Marina, death and destruction and rebirth is a natural part of our world. Gaia has erupted with volcanoes, she’s spewed tsunamis and hurricanes; she’s burst with earthquakes, and roared with devastating fires. People, animals, plants … the earth—everything is destroyed by the natural way of things. This is how she responds to changes. This is how she controls.”
“Lev—Grandfather.” That the name came from her mouth shocked her as much as it did him; she saw it in his suddenly-wide eyes. Why—how—could she feel any tenderness, any respect for this man? Yet she did. She did, dammit, in the same way she felt that niggling awareness of Rue Varden.
“Grandfather, that is the earth, yes, and we do have natural disasters—but to create them on our own … .that’s altering the natural course of things.”
Lev’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Kindness and pride lit there and his delicately wrinkled face pulled into a soft, weary smile. “The natural course of things has already been altered by man—since the beginning of time. He has taken over Gaia as though he is a god, as though he is somehow better than his fellow creatures. We all share the earth, as one, and when one species begins to thrust itself too dearly upon the others, the natural course must take place. Even if it is helped by man.”
Marina lifted her eyes to look at the cluster of people around the computers. How soon were they going to detonate the bombs? Did anyone back in the US know what was going to happen? Could they stop if it they did? “What are they doing there?”
Lev placed his long, cold fingers over her hand. “Marina. Man has been helping—as well as hurting—-Gaia since the beginning of history. Pompeii, for one. The sinking of Atlantis.”
“Are you saying that somehow the volcanic activity of Pompeii was created by man? That’s ludicrous. And Atlantis … .” Her voice trailed off. The legends of Atlantis were little more than that; despite numerous theories there was no real proof that Atlantis existed—or if it had, no agreement on where. Yet … . “The library?”
He nodded. His fingers still covered her hand. “It’s there. I am eighty-nine years old, and I have been studying those manuscripts since I was fifteen. Thirteen, perhaps … .it has been so long. There are many mysteries yet to be revealed—the languages are old and archaic, and difficult—but those are some of the things I’ve learned.”
Marina wanted to believe he was delusional. She wanted to bel
ieve it with all of her heart.
“The Sacred, which I have long studied, and which reveals the ancient wisdom of Gaia, states: ‘Gaia is one with us, and all living creatures are one with her, and if there be a species of this earth that threatens the whole, it shall be expelled.’” His look was steady, sure, serene. “Gaia has called us to act. And we shall. The time is ripe.”
Marina pulled her gaze away from him. Like any other religious fanatic, he believed what he was doing was the right thing. And yet … and yet, she often times felt the same fear for the beauty of the earth and her resources. The dirt of auto emissions, the rape of the ground for natural energies, the stuffing of the landfills with waste … the puncturing of the ozone and the concern of greenhouse gasses … all of it threatened their lives and, most especially, their futures.
The old man sighed next to her. “You remind me so much of my Irina. She did not understand at first either—and you bear her resemblance so heavily. The same brown eyes, the same narrow, pointed chin.”
Colleen Gleason Page 27
