Central Business District
King Abdullah Economic City, Saudi Arabia
24 March 2010
‘My God,’ Vicky DeAngelo said as she stood at Webster’s side and watched a row of buildings out on Financial Island suddenly blossom into surging infernos. Light erupted out over the dark water in the harbour and reflected on the rolling waves. ‘They’ve gone insane.’
Webster couldn’t help thinking that God had nothing to do with what was taking place in Saudi Arabia at the moment. In fact, Webster was positive of that. He almost laughed aloud at the thought.
‘You know, boss,’ Tristan Hamilton said with a trace of nervousness clogging his baritone, ‘it might be an idea to step away from those windows. Even if no one decides to shoot up here because they know you’re here, a blast might come too close. If those windows explode, flying glass could chop you up into hamburger.’
‘We’re going to be all right,’ Webster said. ‘This won’t touch us.’
‘I don’t know about you,’ Hamilton said, ‘but I’ve got compadres plenty worried about the way the rebels have been lighting up oil fields like Roman candles. You get nervous about people like that, something’s gotta give. The United States can’t run without oil. Our country will grind down to dust.’
‘That’s one of the reasons I’ve been pushing to develop my technology,’ Stephen Napier said.
‘Yeah, but you’ve been salting the mine, buddy,’ Hamilton said. ‘I know a lot of your heavy investors are oil people, and you’re holding a few blue-chip shares in corporations over here as well. If this cash cow dries up, you’re gonna be hurting too.’
Another explosion, this one even larger, seared the night sky. This time the detonation rattled through Webster’s flesh a few seconds later.
Hamilton cursed.
Vicky’s phone rang. She answered it and stepped away, talking hurriedly.
Retreating to the bar, Webster poured himself another drink.
‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ Napier told Webster when he joined him, ‘you seem to be awfully calm about this.’
‘I am,’ Webster said as he turned back toward the window. ‘The American Navy is sitting out there as we speak. All it will take is one word from me and Marines will be in here to get us out.’
‘That’s good to know.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Webster drained his glass and made another drink.
‘Why don’t you call them in now?’
‘Because the time isn’t right. You know about timing, Stephen. How close are you on that alternative fuel source?’
Napier hesitated only a moment. ‘I don’t suppose it would be too much telling you that we’re closer than anyone knows.’
‘No, it wouldn’t.’
‘But the timing of the new energy source is going to be tricky.’
‘Because if you wait too long, you’re going to be playing catch-up in a deflated market that’s not going to be able to pay top dollar. And if you break it too fast and people refuse to change over, you’re going to be forced to sell it more cheaply than you otherwise could just so you can stay in business.’
Napier nodded. ‘You understand.’
‘I do. When most of Japan’s heavy industry sites were destroyed in World War Two, they had to start over from scratch. As a result, they used better equipment and created a much better product than American industry. Just like that. Except they were outside the American economy. The US just pushed the import taxes up enough to help American car manufacturers stay in business. Until 1987 when the Japanese rescued the American dollar. After that, new arrangements were made to allow part of Japanese import manufacture to take place here, getting around the import tax.’
‘Then over the next twenty years, Japanese car sales started outstripping domestic products,’ Napier said. ‘And look at the state of the car industry today.’ He sipped his drink. ‘We can sell my product to America.’
‘But that’s not the only market you want.’
‘No.’
‘You want it all. The world market. Or it’s not worth having.’
‘Or at least as much of it as I can get.’
‘I can understand that.’ Webster glanced at the television where Vicky was watching with keen interest. ‘And I don’t blame you.’
‘It’ll be better for all of us if the alternative fuel is launched big,’ Napier said. ‘More profit means we can back up the changeover, create a cushion for the economy. As people get laid off from the petroleum industry, we should be able to absorb them. Most of them. But only if we capture a world share.’
‘I know.’
‘This situation, though, it’s going to change the dynamic of everything.’
Webster nodded. He knew that too. He was counting on it.
Passage of Omens
Hagia Sophia Underground
Istanbul, Turkey
24 March 2010
‘There’s nothing here, Professor Lourds.’
Ignoring the fierce vindication in Joachim’s voice, Lourds shone his light over the passageway. He ran his hand over the wall and felt only the cold solid stone. He took out his pocket knife and used it to tap against the wall.
‘You’re wasting our time,’ Joachim insisted.
‘Can you cut him some slack?’ Cleena asked.
The young woman’s defence surprised Lourds. For a moment he forgot to tap. Evidently it had the same effect on Joachim because he just stared at her silently.
‘He’s trying to do something here,’ Cleena continued. ‘You’re expecting him to do in days what you people couldn’t do in eight hundred years. You might want to chill out a little and think about that.’
Lourds smiled at that. Cleena joined him at the wall. She took out a knife and began tapping the stone surface as well.
‘You’re listening for hollow noises, right?’ Cleena asked.
‘I am,’ Lourds agreed. ‘When did you become a believer?’
‘Me?’ Cleena shook her head. ‘I’m a lapsed Catholic. Way lapsed.’
‘Not in God.’ Lourds moved out a few inches and tapped again. The stone still sounded solid. ‘In me.’
‘I wouldn’t let it go to your head if I were you. It’s a choice between you and the sourpuss over there. I’d rather believe in you. Otherwise we’re going to be back at that hidey-hole they’ve carved out for themselves watching you read books. Personally, I’m up to my eyeballs with watching you read.’
‘I wasn’t just reading,’ Lourds said defensively.
‘I understand that, but you know what I mean.’ Cleena moved down a little bit and started tapping again.
Olympia picked up a loose stone from the ground and used it to tap on the wall as well. ‘You’re sure it’s this side of the passageway?’
‘Yes. This is where it has to be according to the scroll I deciphered.’ Despite his own insistence, Lourds felt his confidence waning. He had measured the distance himself, then measured it twice more. According to everything he had worked out, the entrance to the Passage of Omens had to be within this general vicinity. He didn’t know how they could have missed it.
Only solid stone met his efforts.
‘You’re sure about the distance?’ Cleena asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did they use different measurements back in those days?’
‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ Olympia asked sarcastically.
‘Careful,’ Cleena said. ‘You keep up with that ill-tempered attitude and somebody may just drop a house on you.’
‘Really?’ Olympia said. ‘You did not just say that. We’re here, following in the footsteps of a man who gave us the most intriguing and important book in the Bible, and you’re talking about The Wizard of Oz?’
‘Actually it wasn’t the wizard. That was an allusion to one of the wicked witches.’
‘I knew what the allusion was to. I just think maybe-’
‘Ladies,’ Lourds interrupted.
They looked at him, faces lifted out of the darkness by the flashlights everyone carried.
‘I can’t hear the sound of tapping,’ Lourds pointed out. ‘If I can’t hear the tapping, I can’t hear the hollow sounds.’
Both the women turned back to the search. In both directions down the hall, Joachim and the other monks were busy tapping as well.
Lourds brushed the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then resumed his task. He was right about the translation. The door had to be here. Somewhere.
Central Business District
King Abdullah’s Economic City, Saudi Arabia
24 March 2010
‘My God,’ Vicky whispered. Her eyes never left the television. She held a sat-phone to her ear. ‘Keep them in there. This footage is amazing.’
Crossing the room, Webster joined her. The camera angle was sketchy at best, bouncing around crazily. On the screen, Saudi tanks rolled through the street. From the angle and the geography, Webster guessed the tanks were somewhere near the row of buildings that had just blown up. A wave of gunmen backed away from the approaching tanks. The men took cover behind buildings, but ultimately it did no good. The tank crews fired into them, blasting through stone walls with main guns and.50-cal machine guns. Dead men and broken buildings littered the street amid an ocean of blood. Like mechanical predators, the tanks rolled over the corpses and debris, grinding them into dust and organic pulp.
The cameraman was shooting from only a few steps behind the wave of rebels in fear for his life, judging from the quick awkward movements he made as he dodged and scampered. Another man trailed him with a microphone clenched in his fist, mixing with the line of rebels. Tension knotted his face.
‘… can see that Prince Khalid’s shock troops aren’t holding any…’ the man with the microphone said.
‘Stay in line with that camera, Jernigan,’ Vicky ordered in a hard voice. ‘These shots are money. I’ll make sure your name is known in every household in the United States. Just calm down and stay with-’
At that moment, a round from one of the heavy machine guns caught the reporter in the back of the head. Blood, bone and brain matter exploded in a liquid rush. Some of it caught the camera lens and put a scarlet film over the view.
Vicky cursed. ‘Harrison! Listen to me! I know he’s dead. I saw it happen. Stay with the shot. This is the kind of footage that makes cameramen legends.’
It’s also the kind of footage that will be played on YouTube for years, Webster knew. And he knew that Vicky DeAngelo was more interested in that aspect. All the footage would be watermarked with her media logo.
The tanks advanced over the bodies that had fallen in the street. One of them belonged to the reporter.
The camera wavered hard to the right. Webster knew from the angle the man was considering diving into the nearest shop.
‘Harrison,’ Vicky stated coolly, ‘stay on task. Stay on the tanks. We need-’
The camera view suddenly swung away and up. It focused on the leaping flames overhead for a moment, then whirled to the ground in a kaleidoscope of spinning landscapes.
Vicky swore and punched another button on her sat-phone. ‘Harrison, you’d better be dead or missing a body part!’
Webster smiled as he listened to Vicky directing the news producer to move to the next hot spot in the city. As the view shifted, Webster’s sat-phone rang. The Caller ID confirmed it was coming from the White House. He thumbed the button and answered.
‘Hello?’ President Waggoner said. ‘Elliott? Elliott, is that you?’
‘Yes. I’m here, Jack.’ Crackles echoed along the connection.
‘Thank God,’ Waggoner said. ‘We’d lost touch with you.’
Actually, Webster deliberately hadn’t answered the last call and he knew that the secret service agents’ effort to remain in contact with their primary handler had been blocked. Spider had seen to that. The man sat in the corner of the room and stayed hooked into his computer. Spider was in his element, weaving tactical forays through the domestic and international internet. He was also responsible for making certain Vicky DeAngelo’s broadcasts got out to the communications satellites. Spider was the man behind the curtain, the wizard who made the whole experience work round the globe.
‘We’re still here,’ Webster said.
‘Is there any way you can get clear of that place?’ Waggoner asked.
‘Not without considerable risk.’
‘You’re already in considerable risk. I just watched a reporter get killed on national television.’
When Webster glanced at the television, he saw Vicky had already looped the action on the broadcast. It spun again and again in a screen-in-screen presentation. By tomorrow morning, that would be one of the images most remembered from tonight. As Webster watched, the reporter died again and the camera view turned red. Then it began once more.
‘I have Prince Khalid’s promise nothing will happen to us,’ Webster said.
‘Even if the king’s army doesn’t lay a finger on you, the rebels are gunning for you. The CIA has intercepted encrypted communications in that area between the Shia terrorists.’
That was also courtesy of Spider. Of course, the idea for that had come from Webster. Humans thrived on drama. Nothing divided them more quickly and breaking television news had become the drug of choice. That was one of the weaknesses of giving humans free will. They had to be constantly stimulated in order to use it. When the stimulation didn’t occur naturally, they artificially created it.
‘That surprises me,’ Webster said, though it didn’t.
‘They think the United States is in league with the Sunnis and the king.’
‘We’ve always given that impression. We’ve had a long history of agreeing to terms with these people until our presence in Iraq to shore up the Shias.’
‘I know, but now there’s some rumours flying around that the United States plans to take advantage of all the confusion going on to make a land grab.’
‘We both know that’s not true.’ But it was exactly what Webster had intended.
‘Not entirely,’ the president said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve heard rumours that some of the domestic corporations are planning to use mercenary units to protect their assets over there.’
‘You could hardly blame them.’ Webster watched as a large freighter blew up in the harbour. ‘Neither Prince Khalid nor his opponents care about collateral losses. Those corporations are going to lose millions by morning. Those losses won’t mean much to the Saudis. Their economy will still be stable. They have what everyone wants, and nearly all of that is safely underground. After the fires go out and the dust settles on this, the corporations will line up again to pay for rights to drill.’
‘Only for the moment,’ Waggoner said. ‘That will change as soon as we no longer need their oil.’
‘Things always change.’
‘But until that time, we need to salvage as much of this situation as we can.’
A military helicopter flew uncomfortably close to the building. Hamilton and Napier drew back from the floor-to-ceiling glass. In the next moment, the helicopter fired a series of rockets that reduced the street in front of the hotel into piles of flaming rubble. The cannonade vibrated through the building under Webster’s feet. Smoke drifted up and momentarily obscured the battlefield outside the glass.
Waggoner swore. ‘Is that your hotel?’
Webster glanced at the television screen and saw that the view was indeed of the hotel. He wondered if Vicky DeAngelo’s people had followed a group of Shia there or if they’d returned in hopes of being granted asylum.
In the next second, a wave of fire washed over the front of the building. The heat immediately killed the landscaped grounds in front of the hotel. Only a moment later the expensive façade scorched and carbon covered the glass for a short time before the windows cracked and fell apart.
‘Yes,’ Webster said. ‘That’s our hotel.’
‘Elliott, you can’t take chances like this. You need to get yourself and those people out of there now.’
‘And where would we go?’
‘I’ve got a fleet standing by. They’ve got men on board who can get you out of there.’
‘I’m not convinced we’re through here yet.’
‘The borders of that country are becoming free-fire zones.’
‘I know, but if the United States sends a military force into this country – even to rescue the vice-president – those free-fire zones are going to turn into a conflagration that will sweep across the Middle East. Our actions will be interpreted by the Sunnis as supporting the Shia. The Shia will interpret those actions as a lack of faith and weakness in the Sunnis.’ Webster paused. ‘We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, Mike. I don’t want to have to make any decisions prematurely.’
‘Your hotel is on fire,’ Waggoner said, ‘if anything, you’re making decisions too late.’
‘A lot of American people work in this country,’ Webster said. ‘Our people, Mike. People you and I swore to defend when we took office. I can’t bail out on them.’ He paused, knowing he was hitting every narcissistic patriotic button Waggoner had. ‘If we decide to get me out of here, I want to get all the Americans out. When we finish our terms, I want to go out with a bang not a frightened whimper. I don’t want to be remembered as the vice-president who tucked his tail between his legs and ran out of Saudi Arabia to leave his fellow countrymen to die.’
Waggoner was silent for a time.
On the television, the lower storey of the hotel was suddenly filled with a snowstorm. Webster knew that the fire-suppression system had been triggered. Saudi military units rolled two fire trucks towards the hotel. Within seconds, the teams had offloaded hoses and sprayed water over the fire.
‘Do you know what you’re asking, Elliott?’ Waggoner asked.
‘A way to keep our people safe. Just like we promised.’
‘To do that, we’d have to create an American beachhead somewhere near your location. We’d have to control real estate over there. The Saudis – Prince Khalid – won’t like that because it’ll look as though we’re undercutting his authority and we don’t have faith in him.’
‘I know. But that may be what’s called for. As far as the prince’s authority, there are a lot of people flaunting it right now.’ Webster didn’t intend to settle for anything less than what he wanted.
‘And you don’t think that’s going to cause an international incident?’
‘On the contrary. I know it will. I don’t want to do it unless we have to. And if it should come to that, we need to make a statement. We may be buying the oil from this country, but that also counts as a huge investment.’ They would have to make that statement. Webster was going to see to it. Spider would make certain of it. ‘If the Saudis can make any headway in this, if they can contain the violence – soon – then it’s not going to matter. I feel certain Prince Khalid will honour his promise to take care of our people. But if he can’t, we need to be ready to take care of them ourselves.’
‘You’re talking about an invasion force.’
‘No. An invasion force comes to stay or to plunder. I just want to get our people out with as few casualties as possible.’ That sounds positively noble, doesn’t it? Webster knew the president wouldn’t be able to resist the bait to out-grandstand him.
Outside, another series of explosions made the window shiver and rolled echoes through the building. Vicky wrapped her arms more tightly round herself and shivered, but she never stopped giving orders. Hamilton and Napier were also engaged on their sat-phones.
‘You know what I’m saying is right, Mike,’ Webster said gently, ‘and I know this is all scary.’ He basted his words with conviction. ‘We didn’t ask for the situation. If Prince Khalid hadn’t risen to power, we wouldn’t be here now. But he did, and he started this mess that’s currently threatening to swallow this country and has endangered our people.’
‘He has the army on his side. This engagement shouldn’t take long.’
‘That was said about Iraq. Both times.’
Behind the hotel, towards the heart of the city, more explosives ripped a naked skeleton of a building in progress to shreds. The steel girders collapsed and spilled into the street like a child’s game.
‘Look at the big picture over here,’ Webster said. ‘If we don’t step in, the Chinese will. They need the oil as badly as we do. In fact, if we don’t do something soon, they may view this as the perfect time to advance and grab a stranglehold. Once they’re in, Mike, you know they’re not going to be easy to dissuade. They have their own needs.’
The president sighed tiredly. ‘This is getting to be a bed of snakes, Elliott.’
‘It’s always been a bed of snakes. The snakes are just more prevalent at the moment.’
Vicky turned to Webster with a look of surprise. ‘There are unidentified aircraft flying into the oil fields. Do you know anything about that?’
Webster shook his head.
‘What was that?’ the president asked. ‘Something about aircraft?’
‘Do you have anyone out there?’ Webster asked Vicky.
The woman shook her head. ‘So far, Prince Khalid’s forces have managed to keep the fighting from reaching the oil fields. I didn’t think we needed anyone in the area. I’ve got a team en route that way now.’
‘Never mind,’ the president said. ‘Evidently World News Network has picked up the story.’
‘WNN already has someone there,’ Webster told Vicky.
‘I know. How do you think I’m getting my information?’
Webster pulled out his TV remote control handset and changed the channel to the WNN Channel. The ante had obviously just been increased. He wanted to see the results.
Passage of Omens
Hagia Sophia Underground
Istanbul, Turkey
24 March 2010
‘You’re refusing to admit defeat, Professor Lourds,’ Joachim said accusingly. ‘That passageway, if it was ever here, isn’t here now.’ His frustrated voice echoed along the hall.
A few of the monks continued checking the wall, as did Cleena and Olympia.
Lourds refused to be distracted. He took a bottle of water from his backpack and reviewed his mental notes regarding his translation. He’d got the directions right. This was the tunnel. He was certain of that. But where was the hidden door?
‘We need to try somewhere else,’ Joachim said.
‘No,’ Lourds said. ‘It’s here.’
‘Then where is it?’
‘Obviously, it’s hidden.’ Lourds put away the water bottle. ‘The scroll said the Passage of Omens wouldn’t be found until the time was right.’
‘Then maybe the time isn’t right?’ Olympia joined them. Perspiration gleamed on her skin.
‘That would be an easy answer for failure,’ Joachim said.
‘Don’t,’ Olympia told him. ‘We wouldn’t be this far if it weren’t for Thomas.’
‘We don’t know how far we are, do we?’ Joachim walked away to join the other monks and once more begin the assault on the wall.
‘For a monk, he doesn’t have a lot of faith, does he?’ Lourds asked.
Olympia sipped from a water bottle. ‘I can understand his frustration. Can you imagine having the kind of knowledge he’s had all these years and not being able to find the Joy Scroll?’
Lourds thought of the lost library of Alexandria and how he had spent the last twenty-something years chasing scraps of information, myths and rumours in an effort to locate whatever books might have survived that fire all those years ago.
‘Actually, I can imagine. And it is frustrating.’
Olympia looked down the passageway. ‘Is it possible that another tunnel was dug? That the one we’re actually looking for is on either side of us?’
‘We didn’t see another tunnel.’
‘That doesn’t mean there isn’t one. This area is honeycombed with tunnels. It’s worse than a rabbit’s warren.’
‘Reminds me a lot of London’s underground,’ Lourds admitted. ‘The underground beneath New York pales by comparison. At least the tunnels there are larger.’
‘That’s because they were made for subways and utility lines. These were only made for refugees.’
‘You would think it would be easier to find a hidden passageway in this restricted space.’ Fatigue ate at Lourds as he stared into the darkness.
‘There were no other clues about the location?’
Lourds shook his head. ‘The scroll said the location of the Passage of Omens wouldn’t be revealed until the time was right.’
‘And what time would that be?’
An ungracious smile pulled at Lourds’ mouth. ‘It’s amazing how oblique things like this scroll can be when it comes to the concrete details.’
‘Surely there was something.’
Lourds quoted. ‘Only a fearful and penitent man will find the doorway to the Passage of Omens. The righteous will never know the way.’’
‘That’s all it said?’
‘That’s all. Other than the directions of how to get here.’ A thought suddenly struck Lourds and he wondered why he had not realized it before. He strode forwards, back to his original location in the tunnel. ‘A fearful and penitent man. Not a righteous one.’
‘Thomas?’ Olympia trailed after him and her movement attracted the attention of everyone else in the passageway.
Lourds silently cursed himself. At the spot he had marked, he dropped to his knees and looked at the floor. Carefully, he used his free hand to brush away the accumulated debris that had gathered for hundreds of years. Gradually, the stones became clear. Without a word, Olympia and Joachim joined him in his endeavour. The cleared space grew larger and larger.
Joachim paused. ‘I’ve found something.’ He shone his light on one of the stones. ‘There’s writing here. I can’t read it.’
Lourds walked over and squatted down beside him. The writing was there, but it was almost illegible, almost worn away by the passage of feet and time. He took his water bottle from his backpack, unscrewed the cap and poured some water onto the engraved stone washing the inscription and making it easier to read, but the shadows were deceptive even after Lourds dried the area with a shirt sleeve.
Taking his journal from his backpack, Lourds laid a page over the inscription and made a rubbing. The result was even clearer. He held up the page and Joachim trained his flashlight on it.
‘You can read this?’ Joachim asked.
‘I can,’ Lourds replied. ‘It’s the same language that was in the scroll.’ He worked the translation in his head, then said it out loud. ‘Look to God for the answers that you seek.’
Joachim trained his beam on the ceiling. Spider webs obscured the roof over the passageway.
Lourds put his journal away and stood. He took his shirt off, stripping down to his undershirt, then he waved the shirt overhead and knocked the cobwebs away. On one of the stones overhead, Lourds barely made out the inscription, but he knew what it was.
The Passage of Omens.