by Yasmin Esack
Now, a crashing sound came through the air. The splinters of the shattered chandelier flew everywhere. The tremor shook the conservatory and sent patrons, musicians and the crème de la crème of New York City scampering in all directions. Screams of horror pierced the air and cars screeched to a halt to avoid crowds on the streets. Ambulances and fire tenders tried hard to get through the mayhem. Some people were succumbing to heart attacks.
Then, the lights went out. Santiago dialled Marin’s number.
Chapter 89
Marin eyed the message on his phone. Urgent, answer the phone, urgent answer the phone. From a podium in the Whitehouse pressroom, he could hear his name resonating in a whirlwind of voices.
“Dr. Marin? Dr. Marin?”
Microphones were inches from his face. Overhead, security helicopter blades whirred. To his left, scenes of devastation in France and Egypt pulsated from a satellite feed. The Louvre’s Medieval Base of the Dungeon had caved in and pieces of ancient statues could be seen on the floor.
Marin turned to avoid the blinding flash from the many cameras. Through his semi-blindness, he caught sight of another message. This one read: Seismic reversal in effect.
He grabbed his phone. “Thompson?” he shouted.
“Something strange is happening, Marin.” Thompson was staring at data in his Bronx office.
“Whad’you talking about?”
“Looks like seismic…” The man went silent.
“Thompson!” Marin yelled again.
“It looks like seismic activity is subsiding across the globe. Like hell, tremors are receding.”
“You’re crazy. We just had one.”
“And, it may be the last. There’s seismic quiescence over large areas of the globe.”
“You’re sure about the stress drop?”
“I am. The reversal’s significant. Something like this happened in Taiwan. Areas of high seismic activity had gone into reversal.”
Elated but confused, Marin stared at the marble floor. Tom Hart’s words bounced back to him. You’re going to see change, Josh. Sweat ran down his face as he placed his phone away and straightened up.
“Tell us something!” An ABC reporter shouted.
“Seismic readings taken a while ago suggest a reversal in seismic activity.”
“You’re saying the activity is dissipating?”
“Dr. Marin, is this permanent?” someone yelled from the back.
“Maybe.”
“What advice would you offer at this stage?”
Marin looked across the room and caught sight of Secretary Allan Reisberg squabbling over something with National Security Advisor, Ben Steinman, and two members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Three feet from Reisberg, six world leaders sat. The Palestinian Head of State, Hamza Al Baig, adjusted his checkered kufiya, waiting on him to speak again but he fretted as he searched for words to say.
“Our economy is awaiting your answer, Dr. Marin,” the Egyptian President shouted.
“We need to find Olsen’s date,” he said finally. “I…I think there’s a new age.”
A barrage of reporters rushed forward but Marin ducked out and ran to the Stratellite.
Twenty minutes later, he pushed open the door of his Bronx office. His assistant, Ted Thompson, hurried towards him.
“You gotta look at this, Marin.”
“Alaska?” he asked taking a seat at the monitor.
“Alaska, Marin. I want you to take a good look."
Alaska was an earthquake prone state that experienced level 7 earthquakes every year. It was the home of TAPS, the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System that ran for eight hundred miles. If seismic activity in this area was lessening, it would be an indicator of change worldwide.
“We updated the VS server mapping for this area and the Mid Atlantic as well. Zoom in on Prince William Sound. Check out Cook Inlet, Marin.”
“Twenty earthquakes are usually reported each day in that area.”
“Have a look now.”
“The number’s down.”
“To five, Marin. Now, I want you to look at something else. Click on the Mid Atlantic Ridge.”
Marin was staring at the longest ridge in the world. “It surprises everyone that this is actually under the sea.”
“It’s eight thousand feet below and ten thousand miles long. Iceland sits on this ridge. Bermuda as well.”
“It’s the world’s third most active earthquake zone.”
“Sea floor spread is high here, as much as four inches annually because of molten magma coming from a plate boundary.”
“The ridge is known to separate the North and South American plates from the Eurasian and African plates. See what I’m seeing, Marin?”
“Sea floor spread is lessening, but, we can’t confirm anything unless we monitor the area for a few months.”
“You’re a regular killjoy. We’ve been waiting years for this.”
Marin’s phone rang. It was Riley, the UN consultant on Climate Change and a man deeply worried about the state of the earth.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Seismic activity is lessening worldwide.”
“That’s damn good news. Is it permanent?”
“Only Olsen’s data can say, Ron.” Marin ended the call and dialled Pearce’s number.
Chapter 90
Sitting in Steffi’s living room on La Joya island, Pearce grabbed his ringing phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, did you find Olsen’s data?” Marin asked.
“I’m on my way to SARDS. Keep your fingers crossed. It might be there.” He shut his phone and turned to Steffi. “Why’re you glum? I don’t understand you. This is the most important day of my life. It was quite a deal getting a pass to SARDS. My flight to Colombia leaves at 8PM.”
But, Steffi’s sixth sense was rising. She couldn’t shake off her dark mood.
“I know that, Tim, but, I wish you’d listen to me a bit before you go.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“Mary Findley is dead.”
Pearce’s face drained of blood. “Mary? I…I know it’s G. W. Foster and the Brotherhood. I know it’s them. They like getting everybody out of the way. Bentley and Olsen weren’t enough.”
Steffi’s tried to say even you but Pearce had pressed on.
“Problem is, how would we prove any of it? We have to prove Foster killed them all. I think I…”
Bang! A shot came before he could finish his sentence. Then another, as Pearce pulled Steffi to the ground. A few seconds later, Steffi felt the warmth of blood. She scrambled to her feet and stared speechless as Pearce lay dying on the ground. Blood gushed from a wound in his neck and his eyes stared back lifeless.
“My God!” she shouted frantically. “My God!” she cried again. Steffi was shocked, confused and helpless.
“We need an ambulance. He's real bad.” It was a voice Steffi recognized. “Hurry!” Her neighbour screamed at her.
She dialled as fast as she could. An ambulance stopped at her door five minutes later. In the emergency room of La Joya’s General Hospital, she watched in fear as an attendant slammed a respirator on Pearce’s face. Someone jammed an injection into him. A maddening haste to stop the blood that leaked all the way to the floor and Pearce was on his way to the operating theatre. She felt dizzy and sought comfort by sinking into a leather sofa in the waiting room.
“You need to dress that,” her neighbour said mopping the blood from the wound on her forehead. “Here, take these.” He handed her two painkillers and a small cup of water.
“Did you see who did this?” she asked swallowing.
“No, Steffi. No one.”
The two sat in silence waiting. It was another hour before a doctor appeared.
“He should pull through but, it's pretty bad.”
“Can we see him?”
“No visits are allowed. You need to come with me, ma’am. This way,” he said leading Steffi to a small treat
ment room. The astringent he rubbed on her head felt like fire in hell.
Ten minutes later, they were outside the hospital. A blast of hot air struck their faces.
“There’s nothing more we can do at this point, Steffi. Let’s go home.”
“Thanks Alex. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“You need rest. That gash on your head looks bad.”
Back at her home, he helped her to bed. The man’s gentle touch on her cheek was the last she remembered of anything before she fell asleep.
8.30am next day, a hallow pain stabbed Steffi as she opened her eyes to the reminder of her past day. She groped for her bathrobe and walked outside half dazed. Unfocused, she stumbled into Alex’s body.
“Sorry,” she managed to say as she plunged into a chair, weak with emotion.
Alex handed her a cup of coffee. “I’m really sorry about Pearce.”
“I want to see him.”
“You can't, not for a few days.”
Steffi struggled hard to hold back her tears, feeling worse than ever. Pearce’s pleading words to her at La Joya’s General Hospital came back to her. Get to SARDS he had begged in agony. Steffi straightened up finally finding her voice.
“I’m going to Colombia, Alex.”
Chapter 91
The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta in Colombia was the land of gods, Steffi thought. Its ice-capped mountains and deep valleys ran to the waters of the Atlantic coast, guarding the spirits of a forgotten past. At a corner of a roadway, she waited on a car to take her to SARDS, the South American Research and Development Station.
Two hours later, she entered the station that lay in the midst of the Colombian jungle. The eerie quiet of the place caught her senses more so than the image of Dr. John Steel who was ten yards away. He looked fit for his seventy-seven years, his face blemished by sunspots.
The tall Scott approached her cautiously. “I’m doing this for Dr. Olsen and Dr. Bentley. I don’t want to see their lifetime’s work come to nothing. They were both dear to me. But first, I need to check on something in my laboratory, so, come with me. Then, we would try and locate what you’re looking for.”
She followed Steel to Station 8, the Bio-Tech Laboratory that stood at the end of a long hallway.
Station 8 was shut from the outside world by a sealed door. Steel typed in his ID for the Face Analysis Recognition machine. The door slid open and soon Steffi stared into his future race. She looked on in horror at what she saw. The nausea came first and then the dizziness. Preservative jars that lined shelves were filled with human embryos. Her left hand found the edge of a stool and she managed to stay still for the ten seconds she needed for her eyes to adjust to the stroboscopic light. She blinked again as twenty technicians scattered about the huge lab came into focus. Their arms were raised as they pipetted and measured samples by the dozens. It was freezing cold, even with the coat she had on. She looked up as Steel reappeared.
“Over there,” he pointed in earnest to a line of cubicles, “are the developing anti-cancer embryos. I’m happy with that achievement and, soon, I will complete the isolation and decoding of D19-ARG.” The D19-ARG was an Anti-Retroviral Gene. Implanted into human genes, it would rid the world of the Aids Virus one day. Steel didn’t say more. The man was guarding the secrets of his mission, something he had been doing for thirty years.
“How much time before you finish it all?” Steffi asked.
“Much. Now, my dear, let’s go.”
As they walked down the hall, Station 8’s generators belched hot air into the darkness that surrounded SARDS. Steel’s office was at the side of the main entrance hall, a quiet room, far from the flow of maintenance crews. It was a place where he could be alone and unfettered.
“Come on in. Coffee?” he offered.
“Yes, please.”
Chilled to the bone now, Steffi watched eagerly as Steel poured hot coffee into a mug from a stylish Oster.
“There you go,” he said with a broad smile.
“Thanks.”
She stared as Steel dropped his weight into his leather chair. An expression of smug accomplishment crossed his face. A lifetime of dedicated work was about to unfold. It was his ultimate satisfaction and no one was going to get in his way, Steffi knew.
“Now, what can I do for you, my dear?” he said.
“I need to get to Dr. Bentley’s lab. I’m looking for Dr. Olsen’s data.”
“I see.” Steel wasn’t a man with a whole lot of time to waste. He took a huge gulp of his coffee and said, “Let’s go, then.”
The third floor was foreboding and cluttered with piles of ceiling tiles that had fallen from the US helicopter blast weeks ago. Steel mounted a pile of rubble to get to Bentley’s door. He pressed the stiff lever down and pushed hard to open it. From where they stood, they could see the cabinets that housed his Inca artefacts and the mummified remains of the dead.
“Olsen’s data should be here, Steffi.
Chapter 92
Back on the Island, she grabbed the phone. “Hello,” she answered anxiously, thinking it was the hospital and Pearce had died.
“Any change in Pearce’s condition?” Hart asked.
“Not much.”
“How soon before we know something?”
“I don’t know, days, maybe weeks. No one knows.”
“Be strong and positive. Pearce’s a fighter.” Hart didn’t often let his feelings show but his voice was breaking. He was saddened over Pearce. Having lost Olsen and Bentley, he could bear no more.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait, Tom.”
“I guess, but, tell me what you found at SARDS.”
The moment had arrived. It was one Steffi dreaded. She struggled hard to say, “I didn’t find anything.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Olsen’s data isn’t at SARDS.”
She placed the phone down and looked out from her patio at the bright red bougainvilleas in her garden. It was two days since she had come back from Colombia but it felt like a lifetime. The red roses she had bought for Pearce lay in a basin in her kitchen. Visits were still limited. The surgeon had said something about his brain being swollen from the shot to his neck and all Steffi knew was the desolation and fear she felt for him. She had sat outside his room for hours and had left after much coaxing from the head nurse.
“Go home my dear. I promise I’ll call as soon as he moves his eyes,” she had said.
That was yesterday and the reality of the situation was unbearable for her. She stared at the clock. Visiting hours would soon be around again. She gathered her strength and headed to the shower. Soon, she was out the door.
“Put the TV on,” the same nurse said standing next to her in Pearce’s room. “He needs to start hearing voices. Look for eyelid movement.”
Steffi saw nothing new. Pearce lay motionless. His hair was shaved off and she guessed he would have preferred it that way. His doctor had assured her earlier that his brain swelling was down.
His lips were puckered as usual, and, even in his state, he was probably thinking about a scheme, she figured. She switched on the set and found his favourite sports station. Pearce had a hankering for the Gators basketball team. He was tall at six foot three and had played for his school team years ago. Two minutes later, a game came on and Steffi raised the volume up. She turned as the nurse spoke again.
“Even if his condition improves, you’ll need to think about treatment elsewhere, his physiotherapy.”
Steffi hadn’t given it a thought.
“He’s going to need care and…” The nurse stopped. A moaning was coming from Pearce.
“Steffi, Steffi,” they both heard. Pearce was moving his legs and trying to open his eyes.
“I’ll get the doctor.” The nurse hurried out.
Steffi placed her hand on his forehead. Even though he struggled, his voice came through.
“Steffi?” he called again.
“I’m here, Tim.�
�
He opened his eyes and looked around. As he emerged from his comatose state, his memory slowly came back. He turned to her, blinking his eyes, trying to focus.
“Got the date, love?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
“You can’t.”
“I have to. Please listen.”
Chapter 93
The air carried the scent of food. Hart faced Steffi at a table at Sunset Resort on La Joya Island two weeks later. From the patio, he could see the vast hills in the distance. It felt humid. He wiped sweat off his face with a handkerchief and drained cold water from a bottle he held in his hand. A robin that was perched on a branch flew onto the table. It raised its wings and fluttered about, determined it seemed, to get to the crumbs that rested on his plate. With a swish of Hart’s hand, it was gone.
It was lunchtime and the outdoor patio was packed with diners. Next to them sat a middle-aged couple who spoke a language nobody knew.
He turned to Steffi. “What time d’you think Pearce will get here?
“He’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.”
“We should be with him, shouldn’t we?”
“He’s fine. He’s at Findley Estate.” Steffi glanced at her watch. “He’s taking a bit long, I admit. It’s been three hours. But, he told me to pick you up at the airport and wait here for him.”
Hart sighed. He hated waiting on anyone or anything.
“So, what’s the date on La Croix’s painting, Tom?”
A male voice interrupted Hart’s reply. “Would you care for anything else?” a waited asked.
“Do you want anything more, Steffi?”
“No thanks, Tom.”
“Just the bill, then,” he said.
