by Ted Dekker
“Excuse me, sir, but this is exactly what we agreed to. If we don’t turn the weapons over exactly as agreed, we tip our hands. At this very moment we have a man on the inside closing in on the antivirus.”
“Frankly, I’d sign on for blowing the entire country back into the Stone Age,” Ben-Gurion said.
“And the antivirus with it?” Thomas said. “I’m not saying our alter-natives have anyone jumping for joy here. We’re hanging on by a thread, that’s it, but at least it’s something.”
“I can tell you that I will pay dearly for this tomorrow,” Ben-Gurion said.
“Tomorrow the world’s eyes will be on the mounting dead, not a few missing nuclear weapons. Our play was based on the hope that they would turn over the antivirus, true enough. Now that we know they have no intention of doing so, our plan still has merit. If we turn tail now, Israel will be hit with missiles within the hour.”
“Then we wipe them out.”
“I realize your mind is on your military, General,” Thomas said. “But trust me, the virus makes your army look like plastic toys. Please understand this: you cannot, under any circumstances, fire on Paris or anywhere near Paris. If you inadvertently take out the antivirus, ten days from now this world will have a population of two.”
“Two meaning whom?” Gains asked.
“The only two who’ve already taken the antivirus. Fortier and Svensson. The only chance for survival the rest of us have is giving my man a chance. That means we follow the plan with one change.”
The British admiral arched his left eyebrow. “A change?”
“Can we delay the explosives?”
“We control that from here,” Kaufman said.
“Then we delay six hours.”
“Why?”
“My man needs the time.”
“They will retaliate,” Ben-Gurion said. “You said so yourself.”
“Not if we play our cards right. Not if my man succeeds. Not if we threaten to wipe out Paris.”
“I thought you said we couldn’t risk compromising the antivirus.”
“We can’t. But we can call their bluff. If it gets that far, they’ll know we have nothing left to lose. They won’t run the risk of a final desperate launch on our part. You’ve held back ten long-range missiles?”
“Yes,” Ben-Gurion said.
“There you go. They might doubt our resolve, but they won’t doubt yours.” He turned to the window and gazed at the battleship on their port side. The menacing guns that jutted over the water were now useless toys in a game with far higher stakes than their manufacturer’s wildest imagination.
“I don’t know where you learned your strategy, lad,” the British admiral said behind him. “But I like it. And as far as I can see, it’s our only option.”
“Admiral Kaufman?” Thomas asked without turning.
“It might work.” He swore. “I don’t see an alternative.”
“Then let’s give them something to think about,” Ben-Gurion said. “We’re with you.”
Thomas turned back to them. “Thank you.”
Honestly, it felt good to be commanding men after this thirteen-month hiatus in the other reality. This could be Mikil and Johan and William he was commanding. Thomas wasn’t sure what President Blair had told these men to pave the way for their taking suggestions from a twenty-five-year-old, but it had worked.
The exchange took an hour longer than anticipated, but by 1600 hours the nuclear arsenals of the United States, Britain, and Israel were in the hands of the French aboard more than three hundred ships that steamed steadily toward their coast.
As payment, the USS Nimitz had taken ten large crates filled with canisters of powder that a team of virologists from the World Health Organization quickly confirmed contained an antivirus, though there was no way to verify its authenticity for at least ten hours. Even then, they wouldn’t know its true effectiveness. A complete test would take a full day.
In addition to the crates, the aircraft carrier now carried the three thousand crew members who’d been off-loaded from the American fleet.
Thomas had left his radio with Carlos as planned. The arrangement couldn’t have been clearer. He had a twelve-hour window. If he succeeded, he would activate the homing beacon. If he hadn’t yet succeeded, he would not.
There had been no homing signal.
The six-hour delay had come and gone. Thomas watched the clock on the observation deck, and with each jerk of the minute hand, his hopes dropped a notch.
Come on, Carlos.
Perhaps there was no way to change history after all.
Kaufman walked into the room and removed his hat. His eyes glanced at the clock. “We’re in confirmed range five minutes, then we start losing a consistent signal.”
Thomas stood. “Then what are you waiting for, Admiral? Send the message, fire the missiles, and drop the ships.”
A grin crossed Kaufman’s face. “At least we go out in a blaze of glory.”
“Maybe.”
Thomas watched the plan unfold over the first officer’s shoulder at the radar station. The message sent to Fortier was straightforward: fire one round in retaliation and the next ten will target Paris. It wasn’t worded quite so simply, but the meaning was the same.
The missiles were next. Twenty-six in all, eighteen cruise missiles from batteries outside Lankershim Royal Air Base in England and eight tactical nukes—compliments of the IDF. The targeting was straight-forward and unmistakable: every major command and control facility in and around the deposits of the Russian, Chinese, Pakistani, and Indian nuclear stores in northern France. They couldn’t take out the weapons themselves without risking massive detonations that would level civilian populations, but they intended to at least temporarily cripple France’s use of their newly acquired arsenal.
Admiral Kaufman gave the order calmly over the intercom. He could just as easily have been telling his wife that he would be home soon.
“Scuttle the ships.”
The observation deck quieted. The air felt stuffy. Thomas kept his eyes glued on the sea of bright dots on the radar screen. Each one represented a loaded ship, including six full carrier groups crowded with fighters. The computer displayed them as steady signals, as opposed to signatures that lit with each sweep of the radar.
“Is it working?”
“Give it time,” Ben said. “These things don’t drop like stones, I don’t care how you do it.”
For a while nothing happened.
“Confirmed detonations,” a voice said over the comm.
Five more minutes, still nothing.
Then the first light winked out.
“Ship down. Israeli freighter, the Majestic. ”
A billion dollars of nuclear weapons was on its way to the bottom.
Then another and another. They began to wink out like expired candles.
“Back to the Stone Age,” Ben said quietly.
“There will be plenty more where those came from,” Thomas said. “Assuming there’s anyone left to build them.”
Here in the silence of the aircraft carrier’s observation deck, the destruction of the world’s nuclear arsenal looked like something on a video game, but a hundred miles away, the ocean was burning with three hundred slowly sinking blazes. The weapons required far more to detonate them than random concussion and heat from conventional explosions. They would sink to the ocean floor intact, awaiting salvage at the earliest possible opportunity.
Assuming that anyone was around to salvage them.
Thomas watched the screen for nearly an hour, mesmerized by the silent vanishing of tiny green lights.
Then the screen went black.
For a moment no one spoke.
Gains stuck his head into the room. “I just talked to the president, Thomas. They’re sending a plane to pick you up.”
He turned. “Me? Why?”
“Wouldn’t say. But they’re sending an F-16 with in-flight refueling. He wants you back in a hurry.
”
“No clue at all?”
“None. But the news is out.”
“The media already knows what we did here?”
“No. The news about the virus. The symptoms are widespread in all of the gateway cities.” He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. “It’s begun.”
“How long do I have?”
“They’ll be here in an hour.”
Thomas walked toward him. “Then I don’t have much time, do I?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sleep, Mr. Gains. Dream.”
37
A door slammed above Thomas, waking him. A faint scream.
He opened his eyes and stared into pitch darkness. For a moment he thought he was on the ship, hearing another round of fire. But the cold, damp floor under him pulled him back to this reality.
In the dungeon.
How long had he slept?
The scream came again, louder now. He sat up and caught his breath. Chelise?
No, that was impossible. Chelise was in the tribe’s hands, safe.
Or was she? He was fully awake now. Carlos had said that Johan was coming. Why?
Footsteps sounded overhead. A dim light wavered down the corridor. Boots on the stairs.
Thomas scrambled to his feet, lost his balance, fell against the wall, and pushed himself off. He hurried to the gate and gripped the bars. Torchlight glistened off wet rock walls. They were coming for him.
He saw Woref ’s familiar face, glowing by the light of a torch he held in his left fist. His right hand grasped the end of a rope. So the time had come. He took a deep breath and stepped back from the bars.
Woref stared in through the bars. He had someone else behind him—another prisoner or a guard.
“The mighty Thomas of Hunter,” Woref said. “So clever. So brave. To come all this way for nothing. William is dead.”
“William?”
“You remember him. Tall. Green eyes. A weak fool who talks too much. He convinced me to spare the tribe in exchange for you. I suppose you should be proud of him.”
Spare the tribe. What was the man speaking of? Thomas felt the blood leave his extremities.
“Surprised?” Woref said. “Imagine my surprise to find that you’d already given yourself up in exchange for the other albinos. You were sure you’d be safe as long as your whore was with the tribe.”
Thomas’s mind spun in dizzying circles.
“It appears the fearless commander of the Forest Guard has finally been outwitted.” Woref tugged on the rope. Chelise stumbled past him, lips quivering, hands bound. Something sharp, like fingernails or a claw, had drawn three streaks of blood on her right cheek. Her eyes were wide with terror, and the morst on her face was streaked with tears.
Thomas wavered on his feet. He couldn’t think straight.
“I thought you’d like to see her before I clean her up and deliver her to her father,” Woref said.
Thomas slammed into the bars. “Chelise . . . Oh, my dear . . .” He spoke to Woref. “How dare you hurt the daughter of Qurong!”
Woref ’s smile faded. “So you still care for her. Did you really think the daughter of Qurong could ever return your pitiful love? No one told you that you’re an albino? She belongs to me, you filthy slab of flesh! And I can assure you that whatever doubts she might have entertained toward me have been removed.”
The terrible truth of their predicament washed over Thomas. Chelise could barely keep her eyes open. A single glance at her drooping face brought a tremble to his bones. Woref had abused her in ways he couldn’t guess.
His rage against Woref faded as he gazed at her. A terrible sorrow swept through his chest. “Chelise. I’m so sorry.” Tears blurred his vision. He sank to his knees.
“Forgive me, my love, forgive me,” she cried.
She was crying for him! He reached his hand through the bars.
A fist slammed against his arm, numbing it to the shoulder. Woref turned and slugged Chelise in the jaw. She fell back against the wall and groaned.
“Please, don’t hurt her!” Thomas’s eyes flooded with tears. This wasn’t what Woref had expected. Thomas’s love for Chelise, yes, but not Chelise’s love for him. The general stood trembling from head to foot.
Thomas lunged for the man through the bars. His face collided with cold bronze, but he managed a hand on the general’s leather breastplate.
Woref swung another fist—not at Thomas. At Chelise. It struck her in her side and she gasped.
Thomas fell back in horror.
“For your love of my wife, you will die a terrible, painful death,” the general said. He grabbed Chelise by the hair and shoved her ahead of him, down the corridor.
She wasn’t his wife. She didn’t love him. She despised the beast who would enslave her. Thomas knew all of this. But he could do nothing except fall to the stone floor and weep.
Johan watched the twenty-four tribe members ride in single file down the rocky cliff pass. Suzan sat on a lathered horse on his right, and Mikil faced him on her own horse. Nearly two days had passed since the Horde army left them. They’d debated following but knew that what-ever Thomas had intended was already done. And now here was proof. He’d traded himself for the twenty-four without knowing that Chelise had been taken.
Mikil had just learned about Chelise herself, and she was furious.
“He left her in your command! You’ve just signed his death!”
“Give me the right to use a sword and we would have escaped,” Johan said. “Woref outwitted us.” He frowned and spit to the side. “I should have known.”
“It’s my fault,” Suzan said. “I should have found the army, but they’d taken their prisoners. We honestly thought they were gone.”
“It’s done,” Johan said. “The question is how we help Thomas now.”
Mikil grunted and pulled her mount around. The tribe was running out to meet their family. Little did they know.
“As I see it, we have only one choice,” Johan said.
“I can tell you that any rescue won’t be easy,” Mikil said. “The city is braced for us. If Thomas isn’t dead already, he’s holed up somewhere only Woref knows about.”
“Then we die trying,” Johan said. “I couldn’t live knowing I let this happen.”
“I agree,” Suzan said. “William is likely in the dungeons as well. Or dead.”
“William?” Mikil demanded. “What happened to William?”
Johan told her. They could only assume that he’d agreed to betray Thomas knowing that Thomas was beyond being betrayed. He’d saved the tribe. He was a cantankerous troublemaker, but the Circle blood ran deep.
Mikil set her jaw. “Let me get Jamous. I need to bathe and saddle a fresh horse. Then we leave.”
Qurong stood over the bed, staring at his daughter, who slept peacefully. She was bruised and there was some bleeding on her scalp and on her cheek, but otherwise she was healthy, the doctor said. Woref had seen to it that she was freshly bathed and covered in morst when he brought her into the castle, draped across his arms.
His wife pulled the covers over Chelise’s shoulder. “We let her sleep.”
Qurong followed her into the hall. “She’s been brutalized!” Patricia whispered harshly. “Any fool can see that!”
“She was in captivity with the albinos. Of course she’s been brutalized. But she will be fine. You’ll see. She’ll probably be up this afternoon, running to the library or something. She’s a strong woman, like her mother.”
“I’m not so sure this is the work of albinos. Since when do they brutalize their prisoners?”
“Maybe she fell down a cliff, for all we know. Things happen in the desert. Woref thinks she might have fallen off a horse.” He came to the stairs and stopped. “She’s safe. I have gained my daughter back. Now let me go and see what I can do to keep her safe.”
“You would believe a goat that told you what you wanted to hear,” Patricia said. “My daughter would never def
ile herself. I’ll speak to them with you.”
He started to object but then decided he could use her. What Woref and Ciphus intended to prove, he didn’t know, but better two against two.
The chief priest and the commander of the armies waited for them in the dining room as instructed. They stood from the long table when Qurong pushed the door open. Both dipped their heads in respect.
Woref ’s face had been scratched. Three thin lines of blood seeped through the morst on his cheek. If Qurong wasn’t mistaken, he’d been bruised on his eye as well. This all since bringing Chelise in earlier. His commander had been beaten?
“I see you’ve taken the liberty of eating my fruit,” Qurong said.
“We were told . . .”
He waved Ciphus off. “Fine. My house is your house. At least when you’re invited.”
Patricia walked in and they bowed again, out of respect to Qurong, not to his wife. If she had come alone, they would treat her like any other wife. Patricia had never approved of the custom, but none of her outrage had changed it. Men were honored over women; it had always been so.
“What is this all about?” Patricia demanded.
Woref glanced at Ciphus, who nodded. The snake would always defer, Qurong thought. His backside was his only holy relic, and he would cover it well.
“There are some things that you should know, my lord,” Woref said. “I took the liberty of counseling Ciphus before I came to you.”
“Yes, of course. Spit it out.”
“It’s the condition of your daughter. I can tell you after bringing her to safety that she is not herself. I fear she’s been bewitched by the Circle. By what manner of torture or brutality, I don’t know, but she woke up once screaming terrible lies. Her mind’s been tampered with.”
“What kind of lies?” Patricia demanded harshly.
“Lies of all kinds. She accused me of capturing her when, of course, it was the albinos who captured her. She said that I struck her and dragged her by the hair, something I wouldn’t think of doing to my bride. She thinks the albinos are her friends and we are her enemies.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his wife said. “If she said that you slapped her, I would believe her! How many women have you hit before, Woref?”
