"Any problems with the freezing controls?" he spoke to a slight, freckle-faced man.
"No, sir. Working perfectly," the man answered.
"If the grid supply should fail?"
"The sun is our only power source, Holiness," Dane said. "Once the collectors were filled, this plant became self perpetuating and self regulating. If the sun disappeared today, it would take a hundred years for the collectors to empty and the vaults to cease operating."
"We've thrown every conceivable test we can think of into the lines," the freckle-faced man said. "This baby doesn't lose a byte—corrects faster than we can throw."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "It's as if it knows what we're thinking before we do."
Munoz smiled at the arrant enthusiasm. "I would say Our dollars were well spent then." His smile faded as he glanced down a long corridor at open doors. Striding toward the first door, he poked his head around the jamb, and surveyed the immaculate porcelain equipment, the spotless marble floors.
"Where's the medical staff?" he called over his shoulder, making his way to the next door.
"Sleeping," a brown haired woman answered. "They worked most of the night on the final preparations, making sure that our supply inventory is sufficient, that the sterilizers are working at full capacity, and that the tanks are set up and drawing properly.
Munoz turned to the engineer. "Excellent job," he said. "Excellent."
"Thank you, Holiness. I'm glad it meets with your approval."
"Your first group, they arrive when?"
"Eight o'clock tomorrow morning." Dane pointed a finger upward. "They'll be housed in the private suites on the floors above. Would you like to see those, too?"
Munoz looked at his watch. "Afraid not. My time here has just run out. Although this project is finished, your contract with Us has not yet expired and you may be able to solve a rather perplexing problem for Doctor Raborman, Our Director at Tartarus. With that in mind, I will expect you to join me at the Foundation in San Francisco once you have the freeze routine established here. Let's say—one week?"
"One week! Holiness, we have seven hundred—"
"Your staff is not competent?"
"Of course. They're more than capable," Dane answered.
"Good. One week should give you ample time to prepare then. Bring the plans for this building with you." He cast a cursory glance around the huge room. "I may want to make a few changes."
Dane nodded.
Munoz put on his sunglasses and exited into the harsh glare of the desert sun. As the bronze doors closed behind him he heard the young man giving his staff the rest of the day off for a well-deserved rest. Their joking comments told him that they not only respected their boss, but also liked him. When the time came for Wyland's replacement, the Pontiff would have to keep that in mind.
Before climbing into the waiting skimmer, he took one last look around the city compound. Seven hundred and fifty registrants would be arriving over the next two weeks. Within the year, all five thousand vaults would be filled with the wealthiest, most influential citizens in the world. How easy it had been to get their reservations. He had promised to give them exactly what they wanted—power. And power they would have.
His.
Chapter 50
Ellery
Car lights flashed through the draped living room window. A moment later, the doorbell rang.
Ellery didn't stir from her chair. Go away, whoever you are, she thought. Let me be alone with my son.
The bell rang again and kept on ringing.
Damn! She rose, shuffled to the door, and put her eye to the peephole. Her eyes widened with surprise and she quickly opened the door. She watched confusion race across the young man's face as he stared into her eyes. He took two steps backward and looked at the house number.
"Have I changed so much then?"
"Doctor Jensen?" His voice was hesitant.
"The same," she stepped aside, waved her arm toward the interior room. "Won't you come in, Dane?"
His feet scuffed twice across the hair mat lying in front of the door before he entered.
"I'm glad to see you didn't forget to wipe your feet." Ellery smiled at the childhood habit. Even in the dim light of the room, she could see the blush tinge his cheeks.
"That's one lesson you . . ." His voice trailed to silence as he gazed across the room. "Not Vickie," he whispered.
Ellery shoved away from the door and walked to the casket. "No," she said, her hands caressing the silver contours. "This time it's my Matthew." She turned to face him. Tears misted her eyes but not one overflowed. "Would you like a cup of coffee? A soft drink?"
"Coffee would be fine, Doctor Jensen, if it's no trouble."
She led the way to the kitchen.
"I can't stay long. I hoped Vickie might be here. I wanted to surprise her."
With measured steps, she moved between the sink, coffee container, and cabinet. Behind her, she could hear his weight shifting uncomfortably from side to side.
"Stop fidgeting, Dane, and sit down," she said.
"I wasn't . . . uh . . . yes, Ma'am," he said to her back.
"There was another riot in front of the Capitol three days ago. A seemingly controlled protest that got out of hand. Matthew tried to calm them down. Some damned fool fired a laser and hit Matthew. Do you still take cream in your coffee?"
"No. It's hard to come by in the middle of the desert. I do use sugar, though."
Ellery poured coffee then sat down in the chair opposite his. "Last year, it was John. The Brazilian revolt." She watched the shock spread across his face.
"God, both of them. I didn't know, Doctor Jensen. I'm sorry, so sorry," he whispered.
"Yes."
"Vickie?"
"She's all right. So far." Ellery sipped at the hot coffee. "Are you still working for Deuteronomy?"
Her guest nodded. "We finished the desert project last week, but His Holiness has already contracted for another. I'm scheduled to meet with him and a Doctor Raborman at the Foundation tomorrow morning to go over the details." He leaned back in his chair. "I sure hope whatever it is takes place where people congregate. Three years in the Western Sahara and you begin to feel like real civilization is a figment of your imagination."
"This City of The Dead you were building. Will it really be filled within the year like we hear on the news?"
"Is that what they call it here? Actually, I guess that's a good name for the center. I suspect it will be filled in six to seven months at the rate it's going right now. We'll have thirty-five hundred in-vaulted within the next ninety days. The Saharan project is strictly for the upper echelon of the social elite, but I understand Pope Munoz has authorized the building of sixty or seventy smaller centers throughout the various nations for plain old people like us, and they're filling up just as fast—in case you're interested."
Ellery flashed him a look and he chuckled.
Shoving his chair back, the young man rose and strolled to the wide doors of the pantry. "Cookies still in here?" His fingers grasped the pantry door handles.
"I'm a creature of habit, Dane Wyland. Yes, the cookies are still in there."
Opening the doors, he bent to inspect the shelves. "Ah-hah!" He returned to the table clutching a package of shortbread cookies in his hand.
"You know, the last thing my dad said to me before he died was to live every day of my life as if it were the last day I would ever see because it just might be. That's what he did, and I don't think I've ever known a happier man or one more loving. Then you have all these healthy people, the World in the palms of their hands, and what are they doing? Going to a freezing center hoping for a better life centuries down the road. Human beings are a funny species, aren't they?" he said. "It doesn't make sense to me."
"Nor to me. I can’t help thinking that it’s a terrible risk to take. Unpredictable things happen you know."
"Ah, the old Chaos Theory, eh? I suppose there’s always that possibility, Doctor Jen
sen, but I’d say the probability ratio is somewhere in the neighborhood of a billion to one. That reduces the risk considerably for those who take it." He reached for the carafe, poured himself another cup of coffee, and motioned the pot toward Ellery. She negated with a wave of her hand. "Enough about my work. You say Vickie is okay?"
Dare I tell him what's happening, she thought. Her natural caution kept her silent. He was still contracted to the Church of Universals. "She’s fine. Out of town for the time being, though." She watched his smile sag. "Would you like to see a picture of Dani, her little girl?"
"You bet."
Ellery left the room, returning a few minutes later with an eight-by-ten color photograph in her hand. As Dane stared at the rosy-cheeked muffin sitting in a pile of green, Ellery knew he was seeing a mass of golden curls, brilliant blue eyes, and a solemn stare as she watched someone outside of the picture.
"That's my Vickie." He grinned. "Nothing plain or ordinary about her children." He peered closer at the picture. "Is that a pile of hay Dani's sitting in?"
Ellery took the picture, held it at arm's length. "No. I don't know what kind of prop the photographer used, but it isn't hay." She stood, carried the picture back into the gloom of the living room. She was yawning when she returned.
"Oh, gosh, Doctor Jensen," Dane said, glancing at his watch. "It's getting late. You must be tired and here I am, yapping away, forgetting my manners." He shoved his chair back, took her arm, and turned her about before she could protest.
"Why don't you come for dinner tomorrow night? Say eight o'clock?" she said as they reached the front door. "You can tell me all about this new project of yours."
"I would like that," Dane said, reaching for the doorknob.
"Oh, Dane. A word of caution: if you want to see a real temper tantrum, just mention my name to Doctor Raborman. For that matter, mention anyone in my family."
He paused. "Oh?"
A small fib would do no harm. In a matter-of-fact tone, she said, "When I retired, I strongly advised His Holiness against placing her in the position of Tartarus Director. I didn't feel she was ready for that responsibility. Her pride has never forgiven me for that. I wouldn't want your longtime friendship with me or mine to bias Doctor Raborman's opinion of your abilities."
"Thanks for the warning."
Dane bent down and kissed her cheek. "See you tomorrow night." He glanced toward the casket and she could see a sadness creep into his eyes. He shook his head and strode into the night.
When the taillights of the automobile disappeared around the corner, she quietly shut the door and turned the lock. Stopping for a moment beside the silver coffin, she drew a deep breath and let it slowly exhale.
We have a way in, Matthew, she thought. If they don't corrupt him, we have a way in. In her mind's eye, she could see Matthew smiling and nodding his head with approval.
I have a present for you, son, her silent soliloquy continued. Our Dakotan messenger delivered it just this morning. It's Vickie's first attempt at being a professional photographer. From beneath the cascade of flowers flowing down the sides of the smooth box, Ellery removed the picture of Dani. She's a beautiful little girl. Looks almost like Vickie when she was that age. Remember?
She stared a long time at the pile of hay her granddaughter sat on. Sighing, she smoothed across the child's face with a shaking finger, and then pulled the picture to her lips.
Dry-eyed, Ellery unsnapped the casket lid and lifted the view section far enough for her hand to slide through. With a deep, choking sound, she dropped the photograph into the dark warmth and snapped the lid closed again. Tomorrow, Matthew would be cremated, just as he had requested. She would watch them slide the case into the fire, making certain no one opened the lid. The silver would melt. Matthew would melt. Dani would melt.
Straightening her shoulders, Ellery strode with firm steps up the stairs to the comfort of her four-poster bed. Tonight she would grieve. Tomorrow, she would work.
Chapter 51
Sefura
Sefura bent intently over Jerico's sensor pads, playing them like a concert pianist plays a concerto. The blinking lights calmed to tiny points of steady color, dulled, then winked out.
Grabbing a pad of paper from beside her console, her head lifted. She froze, her hand fluttered at her chest and her mouth rounded as she stared up at the tall man standing quietly before her.
"You frightened me," she said. "Do you always creep up on people like this?"
"Sorry. You were so engrossed in what your sensors were doing, I didn't want to interrupt." He stuck his hand out. "I'm Dane Wyland," he said. "I have a ten o'clock appointment with Doctor Raborman and Pope Munoz." His gaze shifted from her eyes to the LED glow on the wall behind her. "I'm a little early, I guess."
"At Tartarus, fifteen minutes early means you're right on time," she said. The corners of her mouth twitched. "Sometimes, of course, early really means you're late. It all depends on the mood my sister is in." She chuckled at his perplexed expression. "I'm Sefura Raborman. Doctor Raborman's sister." She tapped a sensor pad.
"Yes?" a voice echoed from the desktop.
"Mr. Wyland is here. Right on time." She grinned at Dane.
A second of silence from the pad speaker. "Yes he is. I like that." The voice sounded husky, exotic. "Will you bring him to the lab? No wait. Better take him to the conference room."
"We're on our way."
"Oh, Sef." The alto voice halted Sefura's reach to the sensor. "Ask Mr. Wyland if he remembered to bring the plans His Holiness wanted to see."
Sefura looked up. Dane nodded, pointing to the folded parcel under his arm.
"He has them, Bianca."
"Good. Bring him down then."
Notepad still clutched beneath her arm, Sefura motioned Dane to follow and walked briskly down one of the corridors. "You've been working in the desert lands, haven't you?"
He nodded. "Three years."
"I thought so," she said. "You're as brown as a cinnamon stick." She could feel her cheeks blazing as the comment slipped out. "You don't see your kind of tan on the beaches around here," she finished lamely.
With an appreciative grin, his gaze traveled to her third finger, left hand.
"And you, Mr. Wyland?"
"Me?"
"Are you married or spoken for?"
"I was that obvious, huh?"
She nodded.
"No. Neither applies."
I can't believe I'm having this conversation with a perfect stranger, she thought. At school, maybe—but here? Brazen. That's what it is. Brazen. She turned left into an intersecting corridor and stopped before a heavy teak door.
"Bianca and His Holiness should be along any minute, now," she said as she unlocked the door. She ushered him into a large, rosewood-paneled room nearly filled by a long rectangular table with a prominent semicircle bulging from the far end. Thirty-two deep cushioned chairs were lined symmetrically around its sides. One chair commanded the semicircle.
Dane let out a low whistle at the canvas art hanging on the walls and the old-world silver service glistening on a butler's cart. "Is that real or replicated?" He pointed to the walls.
"Real," Sefura said. "It belongs to His Holiness." She waved toward the far end of the table. "As does that chair."
He chuckled. "I understand."
Voices could be heard through the open door.
"That's Bianca—Doctor Raborman and Pope Munoz. I'll be going now."
"Wait," he called as she reached the door. She paused, looked across her shoulder. "I'd like to take you to dinner sometime. If that's allowed."
"Where are you going, Sef?" Bianca stood at the doorway.
"Back to my desk—unless you need me."
"We do." She pointed to the pad still clutched beneath Sefura's arm. "I want you to take notes for us."
Nodding, Sefura stepped back inside and walked quietly to the end of the table. The engineer jumped to his feet as Bianca and Munoz followed her in.
"Yes to both."
Bianca released his hand as abruptly as she had taken it. She turned aside. The Pope's greeting was perfunctory, two quick shakes before he strode toward his chair, speaking over his shoulder. "Cassidy and Norman—still missing?"
"Yes, Sir. I doubt we'll ever find their bodies, the way that sand was blowing. If entire caravans can disappear, never to be seen again, what chance of being found do those two have?"
"None I would say. None at all."
"Have we met before, Mr. Wyland?" Bianca's glance was quizzical. "You seem familiar, somehow."
Before Dane could answer, Munoz tapped the table top. "Sefura said you brought the plans?"
"Yes, Holiness." Dane reached behind him, picked up the parcel lying on the table.
"On the island, Dane, I am Raphael Munoz. I'm not here in the capacity of Pope," Munoz said. "I'm here strictly as an advisor to Doctor Raborman. She is in charge of Tartarus and the in-vaulting process. Not I."
"Yes, Sir." Dane struggled with a knot in the string that tightly bound the parcel.
"Here, let me do that," Bianca said with irritation, taking the parcel from his hands. She snapped the string and dropped the wrap to the floor.
"You said something about making changes to the central building, Mr. Munoz," the young man said.
"Yes." Munoz unfolded the building plans, smoothed them flat.
Sefura watched the engineer's face as Munoz questioned and pointed. Dane glanced in her direction and she let the barest of smiles flash. Relax, the smile said.
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