by Ted Dekker
“We do. In fact, as of this moment we have the largest land-based arsenal in the world. Most of the United States’ arsenal is on the ocean. But from a purely military perspective, our position is still weak.”
“You’re forgetting the antivirus.”
“I’m setting the antivirus aside, and I’m saying that without it our position is strong, but not strong enough. The United States’ submarine fleet alone could still do substantial damage. We’re still setting up the tactical missiles from China. Russia has 160 intercontinental missiles under my command pointed at North America and their allies. On balance we are in the perfect position to finish the match in precisely the fashion we intended.”
“But you have reservations,” Carlos said.
Fortier paced and drew a deep breath. “I spent nine hours yesterday in conferences with the highest-level delegates for Russia, China, India, and Pakistan. They’ve all embraced our plans, eager to play their part in a changed world. There have been challenges, naturally, but in the end their response is better than I could have hoped for.”
Something bothered Carlos about the man’s tone. Sweat glistened on his forehead; he seemed more circumspect than normal. Perhaps even nervous.
“But I don’t trust the Americans,” Fortier said. “I don’t trust the Israelis. I don’t trust the Russians, and I don’t trust the Chinese. In fact, I don’t trust any of them. Do you?”
“I’m not sure you are required to trust them,” Carlos said.
“Trust is always required. One hidden weapon could take out half of Paris.”
“Then, no, I don’t trust them.”
“Good.” Fortier lifted a large black book from the top of a file cabinet and slid it onto the table in front of Carlos. He’d never seen it.
“What is this?”
Fortier frowned. “This is the new plan,” he said.
This could be good and this could be bad—Carlos wasn’t yet sure which. He reached for the book.
“Page one only,” Fortier said.
Carlos left the book on the table, lifted the cover, and turned the first page. A list of names ran down the page. His was the fourth down. Missirian, Carlos. The rest of the page contained at least another hundred names, listed as his own, surname first.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he said, looking up.
“Our list of survivors. One hundred million in all, by family. We have no doubt as to their loyalties based on family ties and history, and we have precise plans on how to distribute the antivirus to them. The list took five years to compile. There will be some bad apples, of course, but we will deal with them easily enough once the rest are gone.”
Carlos felt the blood drain from his face. Fortier had no intention of giving the anti-virus to any nation. Only these would survive.
“Whether your name remains on this list is entirely up to you, of course,” the Frenchman said. “But my decision is final.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Why was Fortier telling him this? Unless he intended to trust him after all. Or was he telling him to earn Carlos’s loyalty so that he could ultimately eliminate him with ease?
“This isn’t . . .” Carlos stopped. Pointing out the obvious would do him no favors. Fortier was going to wipe out most of Islam—it could hardly be Allah’s will.
“You’re concerned with Islam,” Fortier said. “I assure you that the book contains the names of your most respected imams.”
“And they agree with your plan?”
“They will be given that opportunity.”
Yes, of course. “It’s prudent. Bold. It solves everything.”
Fortier studied him, then finally smiled. “I hoped you would see it that way.”
“And the exchange?” Carlos asked.
“Still critical. We aren’t out of the woods yet. There’s always the possibility that they will find an antivirus in time. Once we have their weapons, their destruction is ensured.”
Carlos paced to the end of the table. “You do realize how dangerous this list is. How many know?”
“Ten, including you. None of them have the antivirus yet.”
A stray thought suddenly flashed through Carlos’s mind. Svensson was key to the antivirus—he’d undoubtedly ensured his survival by manipulating the antivirus in a way only he knew. He’d claimed as much two weeks earlier, and Carlos didn’t doubt him. If Svensson was killed, the antivirus would die with him. Though they already had stockpiles of the remedy, surely Svensson had developed a plan for this contingency as well.
Take Svensson.
That was the thought.
Until the antivirus was widely distributed, Svensson might be the more powerful of the pair. Controlling him meant controlling more than Carlos could imagine.
“You will remain here until after the exchange has been completed,” Fortier continued. “We need full pressure to bear on the American president through these riots. It is now your highest priority. After the exchange I want this facility leveled.”
“And the assassinations?”
“As planned, depending on how well they behave.”
Armand Fortier watched the door close behind the man from Cyprus and wondered if he had made a mistake by showing him the list. But he needed the man’s full cooperation these last few days, and there was no better way than engendering his complete trust. Killing him now, before they had control of the nuclear arsenals, was too risky. Who knew what self-protective measures Carlos had in place even now?
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He slipped it out and glanced at the number. A paging code.
Fortier walked to a red phone on the wall and began the tedious process of making an overseas call through secure channels. He’d talked to the man only once before, and the conversation had lasted less than ten seconds. The CIA director had proven invaluable and earned his life. Little did he know . . .
The call finally connected.
“Grant.”
“Speak quickly.”
Pause.
“I have reason to believe that my contact has been compromised.”
Contact? Carlos.
“The man from Cyprus.”
“Yes,” the American said.
“You’re certain?”
“No. But they’re trying to reach him.”
“How?”
“Through Hunter’s dreams.”
Dreams. The one unanticipated element in all of this. Fortier still wasn’t sure he believed the nonsense. There were alternative explanations that, however unlikely themselves, made more sense than this mystical pap.
“Operations as normal,” Fortier said.
“Yes sir.”
“He must not learn that you suspect him.”
“Understood.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost six,” Dr. Bancroft said. “PM.”
They’d slept about three hours.
Kara sat up and glanced at their arms, which were still taped together. She looked at Thomas. “We did it.”
“So far so good. We’re alive and free.”
“And Johan is dreaming.”
“Hopefully.”
Bancroft reached across Thomas and carefully unwound the tape from their arms. “Johan is dreaming,” he said. “Tell me this is good news for us. Here, I mean.”
“It’s as good as it gets for now. What Carlos does is now up to him.” Thomas swung his feet to the floor and took a moist antiseptic towelette from the doctor.
“Incredible,” Kara said. “I mean, this is absolutely incredible!”
“It gets more real each time. Three or four times and you don’t know which is really real.”
“Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that this is the dream,” she said.
“It might be,” Thomas replied.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in a dream,” Dr. Bancroft said with a shallow smile.
“Until you understand that there are other realities beyon
d this one and actually experience one of them, this is as real as it gets, Doctor. My father used to say we fight not against the things of this world, but against . . . I can’t place the exact quote, but it was spiritual. Trust me, Doctor, you’re not living in a dream.”
He rubbed an itch under his arm. Bancroft followed his fingers, then looked in his eyes.
“Just a rash,” Thomas said. “Probably something I picked up in Indonesia.”
He stood and walked toward the desk phone. “Do you mind stepping out for a moment, Doctor? I have a call to make.”
Dr. Myles Bancroft left reluctantly, but he left. Thomas dialed the White House and waited while they patched him through. The president was sleeping, but he’d left instruction to wake him when Thomas called.
“Thomas. You dreamed?” His voice sounded worn.
“I dreamed, sir.”
“And Johan?”
“If you don’t mind, in person. The line may be clear, but—”
“Of course. The chopper’s already there on standby.”
Thomas nodded. “Things are moving forward?” Meaning was Gains on his way to Israel?
“Yes. But we’re down to two days—”
“Excuse me, sir, but not on the phone.”
“We may have another problem. The demonstrations are starting to look ugly.”
“Bring in the army.”
“I already have. It’s not my safety that concerns me. It’s public sentiment. If this goes badly, my hand may be forced.”
“I need more time.”
“And I need to find out what’s happening—”
“As soon as I dream again, I’ll know,” Thomas said.
The president was silent. He was extending himself on Thomas’s behalf. If his gamble to play the cards as Thomas had suggested failed, several billion people would lose their lives.
Then again, what choice did he really have?
“Get here as quickly as you can,” the president said and hung up.
25
THOMAS WALKED in slow circles around Johan, mining his friend for information about Carlos. But this first experience had been so shocking that most of the information was pushed aside by the raw experience of living vicariously through another mind.
They’d been at it for half an hour. Apart from Johan’s insistence that Carlos knew nothing about the blank Book and his repeated exclamations about how incredible the dream had been, they’d concluded nothing. With each passing minute Johan’s memory was deteriorating.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Thomas said. “Indescribable. But what I need to find out is whether Fortier intends to go through with the exchange, antivirus for weapons, as agreed.”
“No.”
“No? You said—”
“I mean yes,” Johan said. “The exchange, yes, but the antivirus you receive won’t be effective. I think. Does it make any sense?”
“Yes. You’re sure?”
“Quite.” Johan blinked. “So at this very moment you, this other Thomas, are sleeping in this palace called the White House? You are dreaming of yourself. But Carlos isn’t dreaming about me. I’m real.”
“And so am I.” Thomas waved him off. “Don’t try to figure it out. Tell me about Carlos’s plans. Do you think he can be turned?”
“Maybe. He was responsive to my suggestions. Immediately, in fact. Especially if he were to come here as me, like you suggest. He’s already given to mystical ideas. And there was something about a book of names. The Frenchman is planning something no one expects.”
“He is? And you wait this long to tell me? What?”
“It just occurred to me. And I’m not sure what. Something with the people he plans to give the antivirus to. It’s not what everyone thinks. Fewer.”
“I knew it!” Thomas spit. “He’s bluffing! That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I think so, yes. Svensson is the key. I don’t know why, but Carlos was thinking of him.”
“I don’t remember Rachelle ever being this forgetful when she dreamed,” Thomas said.
“My expertise is battle, not dreams.”
“You’re every bit as smart as she was. You’re just distracted by your own enthusiasm. Like a kid who’s lost his mind over a ride.”
Johan smiled. “It was a wild ride! I never would have believed if I hadn’t experienced it myself. I want to go back again.”
“Just remember, now that you have no doubts about your connection to Carlos, his fate may very well be yours. We have to be very careful. If Carlos slips and shows his hand, they’ll deal . . .”
The clopping of hooves on the rocks turned his attention. Four horses trotted around the corner. Cain and Stephen. An albino Thomas didn’t recognize. And a Scab.
A Scab?
“We found them on top of the cliffs,” Cain said, pulling his horse up. “Qurong sends them with a message.”
Thomas immediately abandoned all thoughts of Johan and Carlos. The Scab was dressed in a warrior’s leathers, but he carried no weapon.
“This is Simion,” Cain said, referring to the albino. He dropped from his mount. “He was taken captive several months ago and has been held in the lower dungeons.”
Thomas hurried to the thin man and helped him from his horse. He clasped the man’s arms in a greeting. “Thank Elyon. We didn’t know where to find you. Are there others?” He turned to Johan. “Some fruit and water, quickly.”
Simion beamed. He was missing a tooth, and Thomas knew that a boot or a fist had probably taken it out. “Sit, sit.” He helped the man sit. “Are there others?”
“Only me,” Simion said softly.
Thomas looked at the Scab, who was glancing about furtively. “Help our guest off his horse and give him some fruit.”
“Dismount,” William ordered.
The Scab stepped down tentatively. “I am unarmed,” he said. “My only purpose is to take your response back to my commander, Woref.”
“And what is Woref ’s question?” Thomas asked.
The Scab looked at Simion, who stood unsteadily.
“Qurong has issued a decree,” he said.
Mikil stepped in and offered the man her hand. He waved it off.
“Qurong has declared that unless Thomas of Hunter returns to his captivity within three days, he will drown his daughter, Chelise, for treason.”
No one spoke. Thomas’s mind spun. Chelise was no more guilty of treason than . . .
She’d allowed him to dream.
He faced Johan. “Would he drown his own daughter?”
“I can assure you that he will,” the Scab insisted.
Johan frowned. “What matter of treason is this?”
“He wouldn’t say,” Simion said. “Only that Thomas of Hunter would know.”
They looked at him. “She allowed me to dream,” he said absently. “Surely no man, not even Qurong, would kill his own daughter for allowing a prisoner to dream.”
“No,” Johan said. “I agree; there must be more. This is Woref’s doing.”
“But why would they think such an absurd demand would be of any concern to us?” William demanded.
Immediately Thomas knew.
“Cain. Stephen. Keep our guests company,” he ordered. He caught Suzan’s stare. “I call a council.”
“For what?” William demanded. “This is a simple matter.”
“Then our meeting will be short. A woman’s life is at stake. We won’t dismiss the matter without proper consideration.”
He turned his back on them and walked down the canyon, around a bend, and to a patch of bare sand shaded by the towering cliffs. Conflicting emotions collided in his chest.
He ran a hand through his hair and paced. He had no call to feel so concerned for this one woman. Chelise. A woman he hardly knew. A woman who had thumbed her nose at the tribes and was complicit in the hunt for them. Qurong’s own daughter! The others would never understand.
“If I didn’t know better,” William said behind him, “I would say you
had feelings for this woman.”
Thomas faced them. They stood in a rough circle around him, Johan, William, Mikil, Jamous, and Suzan.
“My feelings for her are no different than Justin’s feelings for you, William,” he said. “She is his creation as much as you are.”
William looked at a loss. “You’re actually considering Qurong’s demand?”
“What’s the use of a council if we don’t discuss our options?” Thomas shouted. “You’ve made a decision already—that isn’t our way.”
They stood in the echo of his voice.
“He’s right,” Suzan said. “A woman’s life is at stake.”
“A Scab’s life.”
“Suzan is right,” Mikil said. “Although I tend to agree with William about the life of a Scab, we should hear Thomas out. We were all Scabs once.”
She sat. The others followed. It was long ago decided that sitting was the preferred posture if any argument was likely to break out.
“Elyon, we ask for your mind,” Mikil said in the traditional manner. “Let us see as you see.”
“So be it,” the rest agreed in unison.
William took a settling breath. “Forgive me for my impulsive response. I am impatient to return to the tribe. They are vulnerable without us.” He took a deep breath. “You’re right, Mikil. We were once Scabs ourselves. But risking Thomas’s life for the daughter of Qurong, who will continue to live in defiance of Elyon, is not only unwise but may be immoral.”
“Perhaps Thomas should explain himself first,” Suzan said.
They looked at him expectantly. And what was he supposed to say? I think I may have fallen in love with a Scab princess? The suddenness of the thought shocked him. No. He should say nothing at all about love.
“I want it to be clear that I haven’t fallen in love with a Scab princess.” He cleared his throat. “But I will admit that she gained my trust while I was with her in the library.”
“Trust?” Johan said. “I wouldn’t trust any daughter of Qurong’s.”
“Then call it empathy,” Thomas snapped back. “I can’t explain how I feel, only that I do. She doesn’t deserve her own deception.”
“Yet it is hers,” Mikil said. “We’re all free to make a choice, and she’s made hers.”
