Nomad (23 page)

“…new reports indicate that Uranus is shifting dramatically in its orbit. NASA and the European Space Agency still have not been able to see Nomad, but scientists are saying it's already affecting Earth’s orbit, and will enter the solar system in a matter of weeks…”

“Goddamn it, I wish we could talk to my dad,” Jess muttered under her breath.

“…this just in…”

It was hard to hear over the rushing wind. Jess increased the volume.

“…unrest in the Middle East taking a rapid turn for the worse…Egyptian and Iranian forces amass troops on the border after Israeli airstrikes into Lebanon yesterday. Israel is saying that no options are off the table, including a nuclear response…this just after a similar threat by Pakistan this morning with renewed fighting in Kashmir as NATO threatens tactical strikes within its territory…”

Giovanni grimaced. “Turn it down.”

Leaning forward, Jess switched the radio off. She wanted to hear what was going on, but evidently he didn’t. Reaching the bottom of the valley, they wound their way back up the other side. The feeling of elation had passed, and Giovanni sensed it, reducing their speed. Bales of hay dotted a pasture to their right. They passed a farmer getting onto his tractor, another already out tilling his fields.

Jess watched them in disbelief. “What are they doing?” The workers in the fields, the farmers planting crops—it seemed so futile. Didn’t they have something better to do with their last days?

Giovanni glanced at her. He looked back at the road and downshifted as the hill grew steeper. “The reconverted farmhouse you stayed in, across the valley. Do you remember it?”

The night before Jess and Celeste had arrived at
Castello Ruspoli
the first time, they had stayed in a guesthouse in another part of Chianti. Giovanni must have done his research and checked their story. Jess nodded. “The one run by the English couple.”

They crested the hill and Giovanni upshifted and nodded. “That’s right. They bought that farmhouse from two old brothers who have lived in the valley since they were born. The old men are twins, almost seventy years old. For the past fifty years, they've earned a hand-to-mouth living by gathering olives and squeezing them for oil, harvesting and selling grapes for others to sell wine.”

Up ahead, they twisted through crumbling stone fences to a town nestled atop a hill. Jess shielded her eyes from the midday sun, squinting to make out the ancient walls ringing the town. She shrugged. “They must have made a bundle selling the place.” She remembered the property had fifty acres of olive groves, and stunning views onto the
Valle D’Orsace
.

“Over two million Euros, that’s what it sold for.” Giovanni downshifted. They approached a gate through the city wall. “Do you know the only question the brothers asked the English couple who bought their place?”

Jess had no idea. “Advice on where to go to the beach?”

The road narrowed to a single lane, and they passed through a portico gate, a heavy wrought-iron door with savage teeth hanging above their heads. Giovanni laughed. “No, they asked if you had to lie flat in an airplane when you flew from England.”

Jess frowned at Giovanni. “Are you kidding?”

“Not at all.” Giovanni let the Maserati glide up a narrow cobbled street, the air turning cool in the shadows. He pulled onto the side and stopped, turned the engine off, and turned to face Jess. “Those two brothers lived in their valley for seventy years, but they never even traveled to Rome, not even to Florence—just thirty miles away. After getting their two million Euros, guess what they did?”

The smell of warm bread filled the air, and Jess glanced at the shop next to them. A bakery. Her mouth watered. Even with her stomach full, she had to resist an urge to jump up and walk into the shop.

She turned to Giovanni. “I’d bet the brothers traveled the world, no?” It seemed like a logical thing after asking about airplanes.

“No. They moved here.” Giovanni held out one hand to the town around them. “They didn’t want to be anywhere else. The only reason they sold their farm was because they were getting too old to gather the olives by hand. Now they live in that apartment.” He pointed at an open window, blue curtains billowing out. An old man sat there, looking out, and waved at Giovanni. He waved back. “They are happy here, there is nowhere else they would be.”

“So what’s your point?”

“That the end of the world is coming for all of us, one way or the other, our own personal apocalypse will find each and every one of us. But, if you are happy, being where you want, with the people you want, and are at peace—then why go somewhere else when the end comes? That is why the farmers are still tilling their fields.”

Jess smiled and waved at the old brother in the window. “Is that why you brought me all the way out here?” It was a good point, but she was tired.

Giovanni shook his head. “No.” He opened his car door and came around to Jess’s side, opening her door to offer a hand. “We came to visit here.”

Jess looked up at the shop they had parked in front of. A painted-black door with two bay windows in lead glass to each side. A small sign,
Protesi e Stampelle
, hung in front of frayed white curtains in one of the windows. “It looks closed.” She took Giovanni’s hand, felt the warmth of his grip, and got up from the low sports car to balance on her crutches.

“I talked to the owner earlier,” Giovanni assured her. “He is waiting for us.”

The curtains parted and a man’s face appeared. A moment later the door swung open. “
Ah, Barone Ruspoli, buon giorno.
” A slender man in a brown suit and bow tie smiled at Jess and Giovanni, strands of hair combed across his balding pate.

Giovanni embraced the little man, kissing him on both cheeks. “
Signore
Hamel, thank you for making time for us. This is Jessica Rollins, my friend I told you about. Jessica, this is
Signore
Hamel.”

“Ah,
si.
” The small man’s mouth twitched, and he looked down at Jessica’s crutches and leg. “
Un piacere.
Please, call me Ernesto.” He backed away into his shop, opening the door wide for them to follow him.

Giovanni held a hand out, offering to let Jess go ahead of him. She still had no idea what they were doing, not until she swung through the doorway. Inside, one wall was lined with shoes and boots on display, but on the other side of the shop were prosthetic half-legs, all standing at attention in white and brown shoes. Creepy.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Jess muttered, coming to a standstill.

Ernesto indicated a chair in the middle of the room. “Please, sit, yes?” He disappeared through curtains into the back of his shop.

Jess felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Look, I’m not going to attach some wooden peg-leg.”

“Trust me.” Giovanni rested his hands on Jess’s shoulders. “Sit.”

Shaking her head, Jess sat. Anything would be better than these crutches, but having Giovanni see her like this, exposing her disability—it felt like an invasion of privacy. She closed her eyes. Upon opening them, Ernesto appeared, holding a surprisingly modern-looking prosthetic.

“Barone Ruspoli called ahead, gave me your size,” Ernesto explained. “Do you want to try?” He handed it to her and backed away.

Giovanni pulled up a chair by the wall.

Jess inspected the leg. Not the same as the one stolen from her, and not custom-fitted, but still, it was decent. Leaning forward, she unclipped the safety pin on her slacks below her stump and hiked the fabric up, but winced in pain. In the fight at the apartment, she must have bruised a rib. Spending the night in a stable and walking around on crutches had made it worse.

She leaned back, grunting.

“You want some help?” Ernesto hovered over Jess.

“No, please.” Jess shooed him away.

Ernesto glanced at Giovanni. Jess tried to lean forward again, but groaned in pain and slumped back in the chair, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Here, let me help.” Giovanni appeared in front of her, taking the prosthetic from her hands.

“No, don’t—” Jess protested, but it was too late.

He gently took hold of her left leg and gripped her exposed, scarred stump with his right hand. She flinched, but had no energy to lash out. He eased the leg onto her stump, pushing it firmly in place. “How’s that?”

Jess inched forward, took hold of the straps and pulled. This one didn’t have a suction valve to attach it. “Not bad, actually.”

His warm hands were still on her leg. She never let anyone touch her there, not even in the most intimate moments. Her face flushed again.

“You can attach it?” Giovanni asked.

Jess nodded. She could lean forward far enough to clip the straps. “Thank you.”

The drive back was quiet. After thanking Ernesto, they got in the car, pulled around the one-way street system of the hilltop medieval village, and drove down the valley. Halfway back, Jess asked for Giovanni’s cell phone.

“Can I try Darmstadt?” she asked after trying her father’s number again with no success.

“Dial the number for Paul Collins,” Giovanni told her. It was a man in the press corps at Darmstadt, a friend of a friend of Giovanni's. He was the one who had connected Jess to the receptionist at Darmstadt when they called before.

She dialed the number, spoke briefly to Collins, and was passed to the receptionist again.

This time, instead of being ignored, the person at reception blurted into the phone, “Ms. Rollins? This is
Ms. Rollins
?”

“Yes, I’m looking for my father, Dr. Benjamin Rollins, he’s supposed to be there,” Jess yelled into the phone, trying to make sure she was heard over the rushing wind in the convertible.

Giovanni put the brakes on and pulled the car to a stop under an olive tree on the side of the road.

“Please stay on the line,” said the receptionist.

Jess glanced at Giovanni. “They’re connecting me.”

“Ms. Rollins,” came a man’s voice over the telephone.

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Müller of the Jet Propulsion Lab.”

Jess frowned. “Okay…”

“Have you been in contact with your father?” Dr. Müller asked.

“That’s why I’m calling you. Isn’t he there?”

Mumbling and yelling on the other end. “Ms. Rollins, where is your father?”

24

B
ASEL,
S
WITZERLAND

“WHERE ARE WE?” Roger asked. He’d been staring into his laptop screen for the last half hour.

Ben pointed to the right side of the rental car’s windshield, at the wall of a ten-story parking structure stenciled with huge red block letters: BASEL. “That bridge back there? We just crossed the Rhine and entered Switzerland.”

They hadn’t turned on their cell phones yet for worry of being tracked, and Ben had stripped out their batteries despite Roger’s protesting it wasn’t necessary. Ben needed to be far enough away from ESOC that they couldn’t be turned back. He leaned forward to look up at the green traffic sign hanging over the three-lane highway:
Basel-Sud, Luzerne, Zurich
.

Directly in front of him, a huge multi-carriage tractor-trailer ground to a halt in the traffic. He checked the time on the car’s clock. Half-past seven in the morning. Rush hour.

Patience. Patience.

Ben tapped his finger against the steering wheel, glanced around the truck along the two-story high aluminum noise walls lining the road, a yellow stripe hugging the concrete pylons securing them to the ground. Looking past the truck, the green foothills of the Alps rose in the distance.