The Tenth Saint

by D. J. Niko

  It was Daniel who finally found Brehan. He figured, quite accurately, that the monk would hide out during the day and surface only after dark, when his charred visage could be obscured by the shadows of the night. It was well after ten in the evening when Daniel saw him picking through the trash behind the soup kitchen, looking for something to eat.

  ”I come as a friend,” Daniel said, offering the startled monk a bag of dried meat he had procured earlier at the corner grocer.

  Sarah came around the corner. When Brehan saw the two of them standing before him, he froze. It was obvious by his look of surprise that they were the last people he’d expected to see there.

  “Brehan,” Sarah said softly, “we need your help. Are you on our side?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Then I must ask you to deliver this to Port Mansfield, Texas.” She handed him the small bundle wrapped in red silk.

  “The codex,” he whispered. “No … We had a deal.”

  “You must trust me, Brehan. Now listen carefully. This is what I need you to do.”

  Daniel slipped quietly into the assembly room while the presentations were under way. Though the room was filled to capacity, his entrance went undetected, as all eyes were on Sandor Hughes, who was delivering his closing arguments on behalf of Donovan. He was in a wheelchair next to the podium, speaking into a wireless mic. In front of him was a three-tiered amphitheater, where Alliance delegates from all over the world were seated. He spoke eloquently and with conviction to a rapt audience.

  “Let us weigh the facts. The earth is sick. It is dying of harmful pollutants that are breeding storms and pestilence. Lands are going barren, and crops are dying. Men are fiercely competing for what few resources remain on this overpopulated planet, and this feeds hatred and brings about war. And this scenario gets worse with every year that passes. We need to act now. Poseidon, ladies and gentlemen, is the solution, not the problem. It is the most promising research that has ever been done on carbon dioxide reduction, and we have the track record to prove it. The scientific community recognizes it as a breakthrough. We have scientists from the world’s top institutions on our board, on our staff, and in advisory capacities. I have personally invested my own fortune into this project, not because of potential profit but because I believe in it.

  “Poseidon is many years in the making, with vast amounts of research and development behind it. We have already demonstrated that an acre of water treated with Poseidon is equivalent to a quarter acre of rainforest in its ability to remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. We cannot go back on the rampant deforestation our species has caused. But we can do something to mitigate the damage. It is no secret that we have been criticized by our foes in the media and in various other forums. They have stated, without knowing all the facts, that such a product could actually be harmful to the planet should it come into contact with other substances and mutate. Is this a possible scenario? Yes, it is. Have we thought of such a scenario and then some? I assure you we have. We employ scientists who study nothing but this very thing. Poseidon is a highly stable product. We have made sure of it. We have put it in contact with high temperatures, adverse atmospheric and oceanic conditions, and even toxic waste, and its constitution has not changed.

  “In our research facility in Texas, we are employing technology unlike anything in the world. In our patented bioreactors, we are growing algae in a revolutionary way that is extremely promising. We have been able to use photosynthesis to propagate this algae in vast proportions, and we are confident that with our current population of Poseidon product we can cover enough oceanic surface to make a one percent reduction in carbon dioxide levels. And that, esteemed delegates of the Alliance, is only the beginning. Poseidon is the best defense against global warming and the answer to a cleaner, healthier planet. It is the future. And today, you have the opportunity to forge that future for the betterment of our planet and the benefit of future generations. Thank you very much.”

  As the room roared with applause, Daniel whispered something in Stuart Ericsson’s ear. Stuart nodded and turned his laptop toward Daniel.

  He typed in the domain number of the Cambridge intranet, which Sarah had given him when they’d put her plan into play. “Just in case something happens to me,” she had said, like she had a premonition.

  Daniel logged in to the site with Sarah’s password and then sent another text. He handed the computer back to Stuart, who was preparing to take the podium to deliver the Oceanus case statement. Daniel pointed to a dialogue window. “When you’re ready, click here. I’ve alerted our contact to start transmitting.”

  The Alliance chairman, a silver-haired German with tortoise-rimmed round glasses, stood and pressed his palms down to quiet the room. “Thank you, Sandor Hughes, for that very thorough presentation. Ladies and gentlemen of the assembly, as you all know, our governing bylaws require us to allow every one of our proposals for action to be challenged by organizations who wish to make a formal statement of opposition. Today we will hear such a statement from Stuart Ericsson, president of the American clean oceans initiative Oceanus. We will then turn the floor over to the audience for comments and questions before convening to vote. Without further ado, I give you Mr. Ericsson.”

  Stuart took the podium and adjusted the microphone up. His hand shook slightly as he put on his reading glasses. He cleared his throat and nodded to the laptop operator.

  The first image that flashed onto the projection screen was a photo of a healthy coral reef just beneath the water’s surface.

  “The world’s oceans. They cover seventy-one percent of our planet and are our single most important resource. Quite simply, oceans give life. They control climate and weather, hold ninety-seven percent of the earth’s water supply, and provide nourishment for nearly half of the people of the world. In the United States alone, one in six jobs originates from marine-related industries. Humanity has always been intertwined with and dependent on the existence of the oceans. And yet we have a complex relationship with the bodies of water that support life on our planet. In fact, studies show that only four percent of the world’s oceans have not, in some way, been impacted by man. Oceanus’ mission is to help, through conservation practices, intervention, lobbying, and the dissemination of vital information, restore health and balance to our oceans and prevent further damage to the oceans from climate change. In realizing our mission, we do not hesitate to fight initiatives that could threaten the delicate balance of our oceans.”

  Stuart paused until the next image, a cluster of blue-green algae, was cued up. “Algae are critical to the existence and preservation of life within our oceans. They provide oxygen through photosynthesis and are a source of food for a variety of marine life. But algae, like many life forms, can only function and thrive if there is balance of their ecosystems. When that balance is thrown off, algae can multiply so rapidly that it can actually harm marine life and marine environments. We have seen this every time there is an algal bloom, whereas vast concentrations of algae in the water cover the surface and prevent light from entering the sea. In nature, this occurs infrequently enough that the damage is not permanent. But with human activity, the picture is entirely different.”

  The next image was of a German ship conducting algae research in the polar belt. “This is the Polarlicht, a German expedition vessel that has been conducting small-scale experiments in the Arctic Circle to determine whether the release of algae into the ocean can help sequester carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. The scientists on board the Polarlicht treated the sea-water with iron to bolster algal populations, with disastrous results. The numbers expanded so rapidly the algae could not be consumed fast enough by the marine organisms that fed on them. When the dead algae sank to the ocean floor, they released methane and decreased oxygen concentrations, killing marine life by the ton. And remember, this was on a small scale, off one island in polar waters. Had this experiment been carried out in a larger area of ocean, I shudder to think how ma
ny resources we would have lost.”

  He waved toward the screen, which showed a photo of the Monaco Oceanographic Museum. “Now I would like to call your attention to an incident many of us are familiar with. In the eighties—1984, to be precise—a species of algae called Caulerpa taxifolia was accidentally released into waters off the coast of Monaco. When this algae came into contact with the Mediterranean Sea, it grew out of control and threatened the delicate ecosystem. It grew to cover some seventy-four hundred acres of the sea and choked or crowded out native plants, altering the ecological balance so much that many studies show more than half the species of fish have been eradicated in areas of the infestation.

  “I share with you these facts, ladies and gentlemen, because they illustrate just how volatile algae can be under extreme conditions. This alone should be reason to give you pause about approving a project such as Poseidon. But let me take it a step further.”

  He nodded to the laptop operator to bring up a series of images from the Donovan plant in Texas. “You have already heard from Sandor Hughes that Donovan Geodynamics is growing algae in a bioreactor and that this algae has been genetically engineered to be hardier than its naturally occurring counterparts and able to withstand extreme temperatures and environmental toxins without blooming out of control. You also heard him say that the Poseidon algae has been propagated, and I quote, ‘in vast proportions.’ But there is something that Mr. Hughes did not tell you.”

  Stuart paused and took a sip of water. The room was quiet as a morgue.

  “Beneath the Donovan bioreactor facility in Texas is a sophisticated maze of pipes we believe acts as a sewer of sorts, diverting captured carbon and algal waste to an unknown subterranean location. And the reason we believe so is this: last year, Oceanus conducted water tests off the western coast of Greenland in an effort to determine why so much marine life had been compromised and why the local population of Kalaallit peoples had for years been on the decline. What we found, ladies and gentlemen of the Alliance, was excessively high concentrations of carbon dioxide— more than twenty times the normal levels. Twenty times. But that’s not all. We also found traces of decomposed algae that did not fit the biological profile of blue-green algae at all. According to our researchers, the algae we found in Baffin Bay had been genetically modified. A coincidence? Maybe. But maybe not.”

  Whispers erupted in the audience, and an air of agitation descended upon the assembly hall.

  Hughes, sitting in a wheelchair in the front row of the audience, stood and supported himself with his cane. His face was flushed, his breathing labored. “Lies,” he bellowed as he pointed at Stuart, his arm shaking. “Mister Chairman, esteemed Alliance members, forgive this interruption, but I cannot allow such rubbish to be spoken in a venerated forum such as this. These are pie-in-the-sky theories that are one hundred percent unfounded. Mr. Ericsson is taking something that is a fact, which is the naturally rising levels of carbon dioxide in the seas of the Arctic Circle, and fabricating theories around it. What he is suggesting here is simply false, and I will not stand for it.”

  The chairman stood from his seat on the third level of the delegate amphitheater. He tapped his gavel thrice. “Mr. Hughes, you are out of line here. The floor belongs to Mr. Ericsson. You may reserve your comments for the end of the presentation, but such outbursts simply will not be allowed. Mr. Ericsson, please continue.”

  Stuart gave the double nod to the laptop operator, a signal to switch windows and call in to the Cambridge intranet.

  “Mr. Hughes, if these statements are false, then how do you explain this?” He pointed to the projection screen, but nothing came up. The login had been authenticated, but there was no transmission. The screen was black, with only the words Waiting for transmission flashing in the lower left corner. “It appears we are having technical difficulty.” Stuart turned to the operator again. “Try again.”

  The second attempt yielded the same result. Daniel shifted in his seat, his brow wrinkled with worry. He quickly sent another text: Transmit NOW.

  There was no reply, and Daniel feared the worst.

  Stuart turned to look at him, his eyes wide.

  Daniel shook his head.

  At that moment, the metal double doors of the assembly hall opened, and all heads turned to watch Sarah enter the room.

  Thirty-Six

  The left side of Sarah’s forehead was scraped raw, and the palms of her hands were crusted with blood and asphalt. Her sleeve was ripped from the shoulder to the elbow, revealing a nasty purple contusion beneath. She was limping, her twisted knee sending sharp stabs into her thigh, but she felt strong. All eyes were upon her—including, she knew, her father’s.

  She imagined the old boy would be fuming over her unexpected entrance, the state of her appearance, and the public humiliation she had, once again, brought upon him. She did her best to avoid his eyes as she quickly scanned the room to locate Daniel in the crowd. What she couldn’t avoid was Hughes’ caustic glare. His usually flushed complexion turned the shallow gray of a marble statue. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, and she could feel the fire of his wrath. She turned away from him and did what she had come there to do.

  Standing in front of a mic near the audience seats, she spoke. “Mister Chairman, members of the assembly, please excuse my bold intrusion, but I am here to deliver something to Mr. Ericsson that is vital to his presentation.” She was calm and composed. “Unfortunately, I had an unforeseen encounter and was delayed.”

  The chairman looked over his glasses at her and then at Stuart, who nodded his approval. “You may approach,” he told her.

  Sarah hobbled toward the front of the room, and Stuart immediately left the podium to meet her halfway. He shot her a baffled look, but there was no time for words. She leaned in and whispered some instructions, then handed him her watch. He squeezed her hand, and she mouthed, “Good luck.”

  Stuart looked down at the face of the watch, which indicated the record mode. He put his thumb on the play button and said, “If I may, Mister Chairman, I would like to submit a voice recording as evidence of Donovan’s ill intent toward the environment and native peoples of Greenland.”

  He pressed the button, and the audience heard the dialogue between Hughes and Sarah:

  “Greenland is a country rich in geothermal resources, though they haven’t been exploited nearly enough. We have been funding a Norwegian research team there for the past six years. The deal is, we help them build a plant to harness geothermal energy that can be funneled to the Western world, and they let us run our, shall we say, experiments offshore. Our researchers found the manuscript fragments while examining different sites for boring feasibility. Does that answer your question?”

  “Say I do accept your offer. What would be in it for you?”

  “Your loyalty. I would fund your operation completely and give you carte blanche to run your dog-and-pony show any way you please. In return, you would pledge to me your full loyalty. No questioning. No interfering. You do your job, and you let me do mine. Do you need me to spell it out further?”

  “The voice you just heard,” Stuart said, “is that of Sandor Hughes. And to borrow his words, do you need this to be spelled out further? I think not.”

  “This is nonsense. It proves nothing. This is taken completely out of context. Mister Chairman, please.” Hughes, clearly agitated, choked on his words and succumbed to a violent coughing fit.

  The assembly hall became a beehive of noise as everyone tried to make sense of what was going on.

  The chairman pounded his gavel. “Order, order!”

  The image flashed on the projection screen, and the room fell silent. The video camera panned across a dark catacomb of steel pipes. Naked blue light from a few wall-mounted fixtures cast a ghostly halo on the piping, so only their outlines were visible. The image was dark and silent but for a maze of bones.

  Sarah’s plan was working. Brehan had gained access to the Donovan facility by posing as a messenger
of the deceased Matakala, there to hand deliver the package Matakala had intended to send just before his death. When inside, he snuck into the engine room and activated the video camera on Sarah’s expedition cap.

  As Sarah watched the images flash on the screen, she felt sick with regret for placing Brehan in the path of danger. He had gone willingly, prepared for the worst. For Brehan, it was retribution for his brother’s death, the destruction of Ethiopian sacred ground, the defilement of holy relics. Being a martyr for upholding the message of the tenth saint was not only his duty; it was an honor. But for Sarah, it was one more life on the line in a battlefield that had already claimed so many. Brehan’s presence in the Donovan pipeline facility could seal the fate of Poseidon. But at what price?

  Have faith, she kept repeating to herself, her heart pounding in her throat. Have faith.

  Brehan began descending a spiral staircase, following the pipeline about a hundred feet. What is he doing? Sarah had specifically told him to record the image, then get out. Now he was taking the plan a step further. This is suicidal, she thought. Get out, damn it. Get out now!

  As every eye in the assembly hall watched the image on the screen, Brehan suddenly stopped descending. He froze for a moment, then jerked his head upward. Sarah’s body trembled involuntarily. Something was wrong. A faint voice could be heard in the background and then the downward descent resumed, this time faster and more frantic. The barrage of rapid footsteps on metal treads sounded across the room.

  Brehan was being chased.

  The voice came closer. “Stop right there.”

  An alarm sounded, signaling that there was an intruder. The camera registered nothing but a blur of metal. Sarah could hardly breathe as she watched the images with wide-eyed horror. What she feared most was coming to pass. When the shot thundered across the engine room, she fell to her knees. At the sight of the freefall of the monk’s limp body fifty feet to the bottom of the pipeline, she dropped her head to her hands.