Confirmation

by Barna William Donovan

  As his pulse quickened for a split instant, Rick’s attention automatically drifted toward Cornelia. And it worked, he realized. It worked perfectly. What stewing anger a memory of Lindsay could ignite in him, a glance at Cornelia instantly smothered.

  “This Kwan guy’s for real!” Jerry snapped. His eyes darted not just to Murakami but the rest of the people in the room. He had obviously taken the doctor’s little jab as a personal affront.

  “So what do we do? Go and grab him off the street?” Melinda spoke up.

  “Yeah,” Ian added. “Like is that even legal?”

  “You remember that collision you almost had with the hot air balloon?” Colonel Franciosa said.

  Graham, the navy man, rolled his eyes and said, “Jesus Christ!” in the discrete tones of a country club patron stunned by a particularly inferior vintage of port.

  “People are about to start killing each other all over the world because of this,” Franciosa continued.

  “Three of our embassies have gotten credible threats already,” Rutkowski interjected, with the tense body language of someone ready to wrestle an opponent to the ground.

  “The point is,” Franciosa continued, “getting ahold of Kwan and others like him will be legal.”

  It made sense, of course, Rick knew. It was the whole point of his team being here. Kwan, and presumably others who had the same experience with the hums, were the one true break in this mystery so far. The only problem seemed to be the doctor’s carelessly worded phrase of “we have to round these people up.” Rick wondered about her bedside manner now.

  “I’ll believe that when I have a theoretical explanation for what makes his…powers work,” Murakami came right back at Jerry with a sharply focused, challenging glare.

  Rick couldn’t help chuckling now. “Powers? Doctor, you make him sound like some kind of a superhero.”

  Murakami gave him the same kind of stare. “No, you do. And, Mr. Ballantine,” she said, infusing “Mr. Ballantine” with the voice of a middle school principal about to deliver a sentence of a week-long detention, “my line of work requires me to be skeptical until I have some solid proof of something. I’m not your villain here. I’m not implying that you and your friends concocted this story to gain access to the government’s investigation. But I…but we need some facts. Some data. And that’s why I want Kwan and others like him.”

  But Murakami’s fire-breathing delivery implied exactly that she suspected Jerry and his whole crew of fabricating a grand piece of flim-flam.

  “All right! Let’s all focus here!” Garret Robinson spoke up at last as he raised a hand. “We are all on the same team. There is something compelling to this David Kwan’s claims—”

  But Franciosa cut in as he took a seat now. “And Dr. Murakami is also right. We need some scientific data before we draw any conclusions. Since we pretty much have squat so far and dozens of globes seem to be inspiring people all over the world to act on their most paranoid impulses.”

  “But a theoretical framework?” the one other civilian in the room beside the Confirmation team said all of a sudden. “Without which all of this phenomenon is bogus and a pseudoscientific pipedream? That’s what I used to say when all of this started. Before all of my students dropped my classes. Before my car was keyed.”

  It was Vincent Rafferty, a physicist from Cal State Fullerton with a specialty in something having to do with high-energy physics that Rick was incapable of recalling. He did remember Knight mentioning, however, that the young professor was not only brilliant—short-listed by some academic trade paper as one the new physics whiz-kids to watch before he even finished his Ph.D. at Princeton—but quite untenured and having somehow run afoul of his school’s administration as a result of the globes. It must have made the call for help by Washington suddenly very attractive.

  “I mean, that’s the whole problem,” Rafferty continued. “There is no theoretical framework here. It’s what makes unexplained phenomena, you know, unexplained.”

  “And our job, ladies and gentlemen,” Murakami snapped right back, infusing “ladies and gentlemen” with that middle school principal tone again, “is to explain it.” She then looked at Franciosa and Robinson, demanding more than asking, for a measure of backup. “Am I not right? And we can’t do that without some sort of a theoretical framework to start from.”

  “OK, you’re right,” Cornelia suddenly spoke up.

  Rick noticed that it seemed to surprise the military people and the two scientists the most. But none of them appeared to be bothered by her.

  “People will help us get to the bottom of this phenomenon,” she continued, “and we need to find them. And hopefully we’ll find most of the right ones.” Pausing, her gaze swept the room as she attempted to make a sort of conciliatory eye contact with everyone. She held Murakami’s gaze the longest. “But for that, you might need another specialist in here as well.”

  “Like who?” asked Franciosa.

  “A media specialist,” Cornelia replied.

  When she said that, Rick noticed Murakami stiffen. He wondered if she might have done something more obnoxious like roll her eyes or say something cutting had Cornelia not just come to her defense. The doctor, Rick surmised, did not believe the social sciences had anything to contribute to the management of this crisis. And he also wondered with some amusement—the sort of amusement that allowed him to enjoy the mayhem of a good Three Stooges episode and the violence of professional wrestling—about how Murakami was going to get along with Knight.

  “You mean to say—” Murakami began.

  But Cornelia cut in. “Yes. The only way to find these people is through analyzing media coverage.”

  “No offense,” Murakami said with a shake of her head and a rueful little smirk, “but I think we’re doomed.”

  “We don’t need the hyperbole just now, Doctor.” Colonel Robinson came to Cornelia’s defense with a harder edge to his voice.

  “Or we could put out another invitation,” Jerry exclaimed with the tight, unstable sarcasm of an offended, egocentric child. “Everyone who’s heard sounds and vibrations, please come down to Travis Air Base for the full, free, taxpayer-provided checkup.”

  More condescending impatience than anger flashed in Murakami’s eyes, Rick noticed. She looked as if she was thinking that she would never embarrass herself by losing her cool on account of this inconsequential little man.

  “Like the colonel said,” Knight spoke up, moving in to extend good will and rein in the most troublesome member of his team the way Robinson had just done. “We all need to stay cool.” His words were aimed squarely at Jerry.

  Rick could have sworn there was an embarrassed look on Knight’s face, an unspoken request for allowances, his acknowledgement of the indignity that an intellectual of his stature was feeling, having to associate with an unsophisticated show-business oaf like Jerry Peretti.

  Jerry, of course, still not over their argument from the previous evening, gave Knight a seething look, but said nothing.

  “All right. So let me understand this,” Murakami said in well-controlled tones. “Our process for predicting where these globes will show up will now include sitting and watching the news and browsing the web.”

  Put in those terms, Rick not only recognized but understood the unease on the faces of the soldiers in the room.

  “We need to try anything we can,” Rafferty said in a sort of whatever-the-hell, we-might-as-well tone.

  “And no, I don’t have any better ideas,” Murakami replied. “Yet. But we are going to find those people who might have a link to this phenomenon—a predictive link—based on what some reporter chooses to write in order to make a news story sound snappier and sell papers? And get more hits online? Oh, and once that reporter made sure the whole story’s written to engage the intellectual level of a third-grader. No offense to our friends from the mass m
edia, but please excuse my skepticism.” Her final words regained some of her earlier sarcastic snap.

  “It is the best idea we have to work with,” Robinson came back immediately with a dry, equally uncompromising retort.

  “Exactly,” Knight seconded. “It sounds strange. I grant you that. And we all do. But we have to try something.”

  “Yeah,” Rutkowski said, “the barbarians are at the gates.”

  “Quite literally,” Graham tagged on. “With their hot air balloons.”

  “Like Dr. Rafferty would agree,” Rick spoke up, “militant skeptics aren’t too popular out there right now.”

  Rafferty merely nodded with what looked like a cross between a wistful, defeated grin and a wince of pain.

  “Of course,” Murakami came back with a much more conciliatory, yet intensely unhappy, tone, “this country—this world—is slipping into the Dark Ages again. Aren’t we glad to be living in the twenty first century?”

  Rick would have liked to have added, “Maybe because the skeptics insisted that this was nothing but an elaborate hoax and a mass delusion for a bit too long,” but chose to keep it to himself for the sake of peace in the room.

  “Yes, it’s unfortunate,” Franciosa said, and shifted in his seat. “And all beside the point right now. What is, is.”

  “And Washington’s not getting us all together to fight amongst ourselves,” Robinson added. He paused and looked at his superior for a moment. “So let’s get a hold of David Kwan, shall we?”

  Both the representatives of the navy and the marine corps nodded.

  “And someone will start going over every single word ever written or spoken about anyone being near those globes and feeling vibrations?” Graham asked.

  “Whoa,” Ian said quietly, exhaled, then added, “we got some work on our hands.”

  Franciosa looked at Cornelia. “So tell me what kind of a media specialist you need.”

  2.

  “What do you think? Should I tell her to go to hell?” Knight asked as Rick finished guzzling the last of the water in his sports bottle.

  He really wished the professor would stop bombarding him with questions as he tried to catch his breath and recover. It was bad enough that the run had felt a lot worse than he thought it would after….

  Aw, crap! After just over a year! Rick’s inner voice berated him. Is it against your religion or creed to do some cardio once in a while?

  But the fact of the matter was that running and cardio work were always easy to let slip by the wayside. This had been especially so since his involvement with the Confirmation project. He always lifted weights, even on the road, but the cardio work always betrayed what he supposed was one of his character flaws. It was just too boring.

  But now the base running-track was next to the temporary housing unit he and the Confirmation crew had been stuck in, so he’d decided to give a three-mile run a shot. Things didn’t go as smoothly as he anticipated.

  “Telling her to go to hell might not be necessary just now,” he replied as he hoped to walk another lap around the track.

  Knight chuckled as he walked beside him. “Sure. You mean you want to tell her yourself, right?” Another irritating chuckle followed.

  “No, I think the high road will do,” Rick replied, really hoping Knight would just go away. “But I can’t believe Lindsay’s still here.”

  “Yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it? Well, she and her husband are weird people—”

  “I mean here. At the base.”

  “It’s nuts, I know.”

  Rick glanced at Knight, wondering what insult he was about to aim at Lindsay. He knew the old man considered his ex-wife a lazy sponge, a gold-digger who had hooked up with the wealthy Pastor Burke because his Reconstructionist dogma justified a family structure where a woman wasn’t required to have any identity aside from that of a wife and mother. Knight also thought Rick was just as weak for not taking more of a scorched-earth approach to their divorce. “A divorce,” Knight had lectured, “and take it from someone who has plenty of expertise in the matter, is a World War II, blitzkrieg, total-war situation. I’m talking original Karate Kid, Cobra Kai, ‘an enemy deserves no mercy,’ ‘sweep the leg’ total annihilation.”

  “I’ll tell her to go to hell if you say so, Chief,” Knight said, apparently intent on following Rick around the track. “That’ll be a nice touch. You don’t even have the time for her to—”

  “No,” Rick said firmly. “I’ll handle this.”

  “OK,” Knight said, and laughed. “Go to hell might be too much. How ‘bout…you’re sending a message that you and Cornelia are all tied up with something and you don’t have the time. Since Cornelia never, you know, needed to take years to figure out what her life was all about.”

  Rick was irritated when he felt a grin wanting to slip into the corner of his mouth. The old bastard really knew how to bring out the worst in him.

  “That’s fine,” he said at length. “I’ll get rid of her myself.”

  Knight nodded. “Aha,” he mumbled, and swaggered off the track. “Oh, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. “I think she’s waiting for you by the visitor center.” Then, after taking another three steps, Knight turned around again. “And one more thing!” he called. “They’re bringing in David Kwan. We have permission to shoot some footage of him arriving at the base. You might want to hurry up for that.”

  Rick nodded and tried to picture the layout of the base in his head again. What was the shortest distance to the visitor center? But it wasn’t the David Kwan news that prompted him to want to get through whatever Lindsay had to say. He wanted to see Cornelia again.

  3.

  By the time Rick arrived at the visitor center, he was close to regretting that he hadn’t sent Knight to meet with Lindsay. Sure, he kept telling himself that he would have given the professor express orders to be on his diplomatic best behavior…but what did that matter now? What he would say to his ex kept turning over in his head. Would he tell her that he didn’t mean what he said about her affair? No, the fact was that he did mean it. And he was still bitter about it, and he still resented both Lindsay and Donald Burke for it.

  Wouldn’t want me to lie to you, would you, Lindsay? a thought streaked through his mind. A lying tongue is an abomination, isn’t it?

  Or that he didn’t intend to hurt her with that jibe about Cornelia? The one about respecting Cornelia more because she could pursue her dreams and career under the greatest adversity whereas Lindsay couldn’t? That he admired Cornelia because she was strong whereas Lindsay was weak and indecisive? No, he told himself. He could not deny those feelings because they were true.

  So instead he simply said, “Lindsay,” as they stood face to face again. Then, realizing how he looked in his sweat-stained T-shirt and shorts, he added, “Sorry about that. Bad timing.”

  “No, Rick,” Lindsay replied immediately. There was a sort of vehemence in her eyes, Rick noticed immediately. “I’m sorry. You were right. Last time. Oh my God, you were so right.”

  That caught him off guard. He wasn’t about to complain about what Lindsay had just said, but it was quite a curveball. “What do you mean?” was the only thing he could think of asking.

  “I’ve been glued to the news since the other day. And thank God you’re all right. I’m so glad you weren’t injured in that chase.”

  “Thanks,” Rick heard himself say awkwardly. “Really, Lindsay, I appreciate that.”

  “But as I’m watching the news and reading about everything that’s going on—what happened right here with that balloon—everything, all this craziness…well, it made me realize that you were right.”

  Lindsay paused and looked Rick square in the eyes. Her probing, animated glare, her odd delivery, made him wonder if this was her strange, roundabout way of apologizing for coming on so strong the other day, apologiz
ing for something. But he wanted her to get to the point as soon as she could, wanted to understand exactly what she meant, so he said, “I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

  “What you said about the globes and us! All the people in the world. All of us. The real threat is inside of us.”

  This surprised Rick since Lindsay—or at least the version of her he was most familiar with, the one he had been married to—was not one to backtrack or apologize for a lot of things.

  “You had it right, Rick. We are the threat.” She then took a step closer to him, leaned in, and with a conspiratorial tone said, “Because that’s the real power of the globes. They bring out the worst in us. The sin, the evil that’s in all of our hearts. That’s what the globes do. They’re like a…what? Trojan Horse? Can we compare them to that? Like, they look harmless. They’re a mysterious gift from beyond. Oh, I think a lot of people believe these things are from some benevolent force. Some friendly alien or earth goddess or something like that. That they’re some gift. But they’re not. They have the power to unleash the worst inside all of us. Until we kill each other.”

  Wow, Rick thought. How does one argue with that? He honestly didn’t know, and didn’t want to get into any sort of analytical discussions with Lindsay about it. Because she had been right; her words did mirror his own assessment in a way.

  He started nodding slowly, and that, in turn, prompted Lindsay to add, “Is there no more of a potent weapon the devil can use against us?”

  “I really don’t know,” Rick said quietly.

  Lindsay returned a thin smile. “I know you don’t. I know you have a hard time believing. But you believe your eyes, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you believe all the sick, destructive, hateful things people are about to do to each other as a result of these globes. Those are facts you can hang on to.”

  Rick nodded.

  “Then the answer to all of this is obvious. These things need to be destroyed.”

  Lindsay’s customarily placid, inscrutable smile was still in place, but her words, Rick realized, were forged in steely determination.