by Ted Dekker
“What if one of the other countries hands over their weapons?” someone asked.
“We’re doing our best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“But the alternative to handing over our weapons is death, right?” Dwight Olsen again.
The president reasserted himself. “Both are death. The only alternative that has any merit in my mind is to beat them up-front before the virus does its damage.”
“The virus is already doing its damage.”
“Not if we can find them and the antivirus in the next three weeks. It’s the only course of action that makes any sense.”
“Which I can assure you we’re working on as we speak,” CIA Director Phil Grant said. “We’ve temporarily suspended all other cases, over nine thousand, and directed all of our assets at locating these people.”
“And what are your chances of doing that?” Olsen asked.
“We’ll find them. The trick will be to find the antivirus with them.”
The president leaned forward into his mike. “In the meantime, I think it’s important that we confront this in the strictest of confidence. We need some ideas. Anything you can think of—I’m all ears. I don’t care how crazy it sounds.”
A kind of mad chaos overtook the room for the next hour. They all seemed to function in it, but to say they controlled it would be wrong, Thomas thought. The chaos controlled them.
He watched the verbal sparring, taken by it. It was not so different from his own Council. Here was an advanced civilization doing precisely what his own people did, exploring and vigorously defending ideas, not with swords, but with tongues as sharp as swords.
He stopped keeping track of who asked questions and who answered, but he mulled each one carefully. Americans really did have a kind of uncommon resourcefulness when pressed.
“It would seem that slowing the spread of the virus could at least buy us time,” a handsome woman in a navy business suit observed. “Time is both our greatest enemy and our greatest ally. We should shut down travel.”
“And cause widespread panic? A threat of this magnitude would bring out the worst in people.”
“Then offer them another reason,” the woman responded. “Issue a heightened terror alert based on information we can’t disclose. They’ll assume we’re dealing with a bomb or something. Ground air travel and shut the airports. Stop all interstate travel. Anything we can to slow the spread of the virus. Even a day or two could make the difference, right?”
Barbara, the secretary of health, responded. “Technically, yes.”
No one objected.
“Frankly, we might be better off concentrating on the antivirus and the means to distribute it on short notice. Getting a vaccine out to six billion people isn’t an easy chore.”
“But you’re saying that everyone here is supposedly infected?” someone asked. “Shouldn’t we isolate whatever command and control hasn’t been infected? Keep them in isolation as long as is necessary.”
“Can you insulate people from this thing?” someone else asked.
“There has to be a way. Clean rooms. Put them on the space shuttle and send them to the space station for all I care.”
“To what end? What good are a couple hundred generals in the space station if the rest of the world is dying?”
“Then isolate the scientists who are working on the antivirus. Or give the space station the codes to launch a few well-aimed nukes down the throats of whoever’s caused this thing if it ever gets to that.”
To what end? Thomas wondered. Retaliation felt hollow in the face of death. The debate stalled.
“We lead this country, we die with this country if it comes down to that,” the president finally said. “But I don’t see the harm of insulating a thread of command and control and as many scientists as possible.”
The chaos gradually gave way to a sober tension. Crisis sometimes divided and sometimes united. Now it united.
At least for the moment.
The meeting was two hours old when the question that brought Thomas forward was finally asked.
The blue-suited woman. The smart one. “How do we know that they actually have an antivirus?”
No answer.
“Isn’t it possible that they’re bluffing? If it takes us months to create a vaccine or an antivirus, how is it they have one? You said the Raison Strain is a brand-new virus, less than a week old, a mutation of the Raison Vaccine. How did they get an antivirus in under a week?”
The president glanced toward Thomas near the back, then nodded at Deputy Secretary Gains, who stood and walked to an open mike. He’d spoken only a few times during the entire discussion, deferring to his superior, Secretary of State Paul Stanley, as a political courtesy, Thomas assumed.
“There’s more to this. Nothing that changes what you’ve heard, but something that may assist us in a more . . . unconventional way. I hesitate because I’m about to open Pandora’s box, but considering the situation, I think it best to go ahead.”
Any trace of desire Thomas had to speak to this group suddenly vacated him. He was no more a politician than he was a rat.
“Roughly two weeks ago a man called one of our offices and claimed that he was having some strange dreams.”
Thomas closed his eyes. Here they went.
“He came to the conclusion that the dreams were real, because in his dreams there were history books that recorded the histories of Earth. He could go to these history books and learn who won the Kentucky Derby this year, for example. Which he did, before the Derby was run, mind you. And he was right. Actually made over three hundred thousand on the long shot. The information in the history books from his dream world was real. Exact.”
Thomas was a little surprised there weren’t at least a few snickers.
“The reason he called our offices was because he learned something rather disturbing, namely, that a malicious virus named the Raison Strain would be released around the world this week. Again, this was nearly two weeks ago, before the Raison Strain even existed.”
They were at least listening.
“No one listened to him, of course. Who would? He went to Bangkok and took matters into his own hands. For the past week he has been feeding us a steady diet of facts, all in advance of their happening.”
He paused. No one was moving.
“I flew to Bangkok yesterday on the request of the president,” Gains said. “What I have seen with my own eyes would leave you in shock. Like me, you’ve probably come to the conclusion that our nation is in a very, very bad place. The situation seems hopeless. If there’s any one person who can save this country, ladies and gentlemen, it might very well be Thomas Hunter. Thomas?”
Thomas stood and stepped into the aisle. He walked toward the front, feeling self-conscious in the black slacks and white shirt he’d purchased at the mall on their way here from the airport. He must look very, very strange. Here is the man who has seen the end of the world. He was as disconnected from their reality as the Hulk or Spiderman.
He covered the mike. “I’m not sure this is going to do any good,” he said quietly. The president held him with a steady gaze.
“Make them believe, Thomas,” Gains said. “Let them ask their questions.” He offered an anemic smile and stepped aside.
Thomas faced the audience. Twenty-three sets of eyes, as unsure and awkward as he was, stared at him.
He felt sweat bead on his forehead. If they knew how uncertain he felt, his information would fall on deaf ears. He had to play his part with as much conviction as he could muster. It didn’t matter if they accepted him or liked him. Only that they heard him.
“I know this all sounds pretty crazy to some of you, maybe all of you. And that’s okay.” His voice sounded loud in the still room. “My name is Thomas Hunter, and the fact is, no matter how I know what I know—no matter how incredible it sounds to you—I do know a few things. If you follow what I’m about to tell you, you may have a chance. If you don’t, you’ll prob
ably be dead in less than twenty-one days.”
He sounded far too confident. Even cocky. But it was the only way he knew in this reality.
“Should I continue?”
“Continue, Thomas,” the president said behind him.
His reservations fell like loosed chains. The plain truth was that he probably had more to offer the country than any other person in this room. And not because he wanted to carry such a responsibility. He had nothing to lose. None of them did.
“Thank you.”
Thomas strolled to his right, then remembered the mike and walked back, studying them. He may get only one shot at this, so he would give it to them in a language that would at least cause a stir.
“I’ve lived a lifetime in the past two weeks. I’ve also learned some things in that lifetime. In particular, that most men and women will yield to the strong currents sucking them into the seas of ruin. Only the strongest in mind and spirit will swim against that current. A bit philosophical maybe, but it’s what some people say where I come from, and I agree.”
He paused and made eye contact with the navy-suited woman whose question had led to Gains’s introduction.
“You’ll all be sucked out to sea if you’re not very, very careful. I know I must sound like a spiritual adviser to you. Not so. I’m only speaking what I know, and here’s what I know.”
The woman was smiling gently. Support or incredulity, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.
“I know that the Swiss will have the antivirus if he doesn’t already. I know this because that’s what the history books say. Some people survive. Without an antivirus any survival would be impossible.”
Thomas took a breath and tried to read them, but the difference between being shocked by a speaker’s knowledge and being shocked by his audacity was a difficult thing to gauge.
“Furthermore, I know that the U.S. will eventually yield to his demands and hand over its weapons. I know that the whole world will give in to this man, and even then, half of the world’s population will die, though I can only guess which half. This will lead into a time of terrible tribulation.”
He sounded like a prophet, or like a schoolteacher lecturing children. It was the last thing he wanted, although he supposed in some unconventional way he was a prophet. Was it possible that he was meant to be here today?
“If you give in to the Swiss, you’ll follow the course of history as it’s written. You’ll be sucked out to sea. Your only hope is to resist those who demand you yield. You’ll either find a way to change history, or you’ll follow its course and die, as it is written.”
“Excuse me.”
It was Olsen, the black-haired man who Bob claimed was an enemy of the president. He was grinning wickedly.
“Yes, Mr. Olsen?”
The man’s eyes twitched. He hadn’t expected to be called by name.
“You’re saying that you’re a psychic? The president is now counseling psychics?”
“I don’t even believe in psychics,” Thomas said. “I am simply someone who knows more than you do about a few things. The fact, for example, that you will die in less than twenty-one days due to massive hemorrhaging in your heart and lungs and liver. You will have less than twenty-four hours from the onset of symptoms to your death. I know it all sounds a bit harsh, but then I’m assuming none of you has the time for games.”
Olsen’s smug grin vanished.
“I also suspect that within one week you will lead a motion to give in to Svensson’s demands. That’s not from the Books of Histories, you understand. It’s my judgment based on what I’ve observed of you today. If I’m right, you are the kind of man the rest in this room must resist.”
Gains chuckled nervously. “I’m sure Thomas isn’t entirely sincere. He has unique . . . wit, as I’m sure you can see. Are there other questions?”
“Are you serious?” Olsen demanded, looking at Gains. “You actually have the audacity to parade a circus act in front of us at a time like this?”
“Dead serious!” Gains said. “We’re here today because we didn’t listen to this man two weeks ago. He told us what, he told us where, he told us when, and he told us why, and we ignored him. I suggest you take every word he speaks as though it were from God himself.”
Thomas cringed. He hardly faulted the group for their doubt. They had no reference against which to judge him.
“So you learned about all of this because it’s all recorded in some history books in another reality?” the navy-suited woman asked.
“Your name?” Thomas asked.
“Clarice Morton,” she said, glancing at the president. “Congresswoman Morton.”
“The answer is yes, Ms. Morton. I really did. Any number of events can confirm that. I knew about the Raison Strain over a week ago. I reported it to the State Department and then to the Centers for Disease Control. When neither was helpful, I flew to Bangkok myself. In an admittedly desperate act, I kidnapped Monique de Raison—perhaps you heard about that. I was attempting to help her understand how dangerous her vaccine really was. Needless to say, she now understands.”
“So you convinced her before this all happened?”
“She demanded specific information from me. I went into the histories and retrieved the information. She knew then. That was before Carlos shot me and took her. They’re undoubtedly using her now to create the antivirus.”
“You were shot?”
“A very long story, Ms. Morton. Moot at this point.”
Gains was having difficulty suppressing a small grin.
“So if this really is all true, if you can get information about the future as a matter of history—and for the moment I’m going to believe you can— then can you find out what happens next?”
“If I could find the Books of Histories, technically, yes. I could.”
She glanced at the president. “And if you can find out what is going to happen, then we might be able to find out how to stop it, right?”
“We might be able to, yes. Assuming history can be changed.”
“But we have to assume it can be, or all of this is all moot, as you say.”
“Agreed.”
“So then can you find out what happens next?”
Thomas had understood where she was going, but not until now did her simple suggestion strike a chord in his mind. The problem, of course, was that the Books of Histories were no longer available. He’d lived with that realization for fifteen years. But rumor was they still existed. He’d never had reason to search them out. Defending the forests from the Horde and celebrating the Great Romance had been his primary passion in the forest. Now he had a very good reason to search them out. They might provide a way out of this mess, precisely as Clarice was suggesting.
“Actually, the Books of Histories . . . are not presently available.”
A murmur rippled through the room. It was as if this little bit of information actually interested them. They were incensed. How convenient. The Books of Histories have gone missing! Yes, of course, what did you expect? It always works that way.
Or maybe they were disappointed. Some of them at least wanted to believe everything he had said.
And so they should. Decent men and women could see sincerity when it stared them in the face.
“This is absurd!” Olsen said.
“Then I’m afraid that I’m leaning toward the absurd, Dwight,” the president said. “Thomas has earned himself a voice. And I think Clarice is on to something. Can you find anything more for us, Thomas?”
Could he? His answer was as calculating as it was truthful. “Maybe.”
Olsen muttered something, but Thomas couldn’t make it out.
The president closed his folder. “Good. Ladies and gentlemen, please send any additional thoughts and comments through my staff. Good evening. And may God preserve our nation.” He stood and left the room.
Now the crisis would divide.
“Six more cities,” Phil Grant said, slapping the folder down on t
he coffee table. His maroon silk tie hung loose around his neck. He ran a finger under his collar and loosened it even more. “Including St. Petersburg. They’re climbing the walls. If the Russians keep this under their hats, it’ll be a miracle.”
“This . . . this is a nightmare,” his assistant said. Thomas watched Dempsey walk to the window and stare out with a lost gaze. “The Russians have decades of experience keeping things under the lid. I’d worry about the United States. If I were a betting man, I’d say Olsen’s already leaking this. How many did you say?”
“Twenty. All airports. Like clockwork.”
“We aren’t closing the airports?”
“CDC ran another simulation using the latest data. They say closing the airports won’t help at this point. There’ve been over ten thousand flights in the continental U.S. since the virus first hit New York. Conservative estimates have a quarter of the country exposed already.”
Grant put his elbows on his knees and formed a tent with his fingers. A slight tremor shook his hands. Dempsey paced back from the window, frowning. Sweat darkened his pale blue shirt at the armpits. The full reality of what had been delivered to the United States of America was finally and terribly settling into the CIA.
Grant had brought Thomas to the CIA headquarters in Langley forty-five minutes ago.
“You’re convinced this psychologist is worth our time?” Thomas asked. “It just seems like a lot of downtime.”
“On the contrary, trying to unlock that mind of yours is the only thing that makes sense where you’re concerned,” Grant said.
“Memories, maybe. But I wouldn’t assume that whatever is happening is happening in my head,” Thomas replied.
“I’ll settle for memories. If you gave the antivirus characteristics to Carlos like you think you may have, that information would be a memory. With any luck Dr. Myles Bancroft can stimulate that memory. You have no information, none whatsoever, on where Svensson might be holing up?”
