The Eden Prophecy (36 page)

“I’m Scindo.”

She shook her head.

“They must’ve thought I was dead,” he stated.

“They could have checked,” she said. “They could have killed all of us with ease and then checked on you.
But they didn’t—they left. I’m telling you; you’re alone now.”

This seemed to bother him more than anything so far. “You shot your friend,” he said. “Maybe you’re alone, too.”

She certainly felt alone, sick to her stomach at the turn of events, but she couldn’t show it, not until there was no other hope.

“I did the right thing,” she said proudly. “If you don’t agree, I could take you back to him.”

Scindo did not reply. He seemed to be studying her, trying to figure her out. Obviously he didn’t want to be back in Hawker’s clutches.

“So what will you do with me?”

“I’m not letting you go, if that’s what you mean.”

Other than that, she wasn’t sure. There was no script for this. But at least he was talking. Maybe the madness could have some value, if she could coax even a little bit of intel out of him.

“Did you kill the policemen?” she asked.

“No,” he said defiantly. “I’m not a killer, either.”

He seemed proud of that, adamant, in fact. “Then why do you stand by while the people who left you plan to butcher half the world?”

Finally she seemed to be reaching him. He seemed moved by her statement, somewhat off balance. “I know your tricks,” he said defensively.

She ignored him. There was a crack in his armor and she had to exploit it.

“They’re going to release a virus that will cause misery everywhere. Do you understand that? Millions will end up starving, maybe billions. There’ll be wars and hatred and violence. You can stop it.”

“I live in it every day,” he said.

“Where?” she asked.

He hesitated.

“And for that matter what’s your real name?” she added. “I know my Latin. You weren’t born with the name Scindo.”

“What does it matter what name I was born with?” he said. “They don’t call me by it. They call me
dirty Arab
. They spit at me. I’m French but the French hate me. If we fight they beat us; if we don’t they ignore us. If we would just die and go away they would be happier.”

“We?”

“All of us,” he said, growing more agitated.

“Like the friends this cult of yours killed?”

“I didn’t … they …”

He was agitated, straining at his cuffs, nostrils flaring. He was talking freely now. He was shouting.

“Where are you from?” she asked softly. “What can it hurt?”

It was a question she’d asked a hundred times before, only now she realized she already knew the answer. She needed him to say it first. A little crack, a trickle of truth, and then the flood. Or so she hoped.

“La Courneuve,” he said finally.

“And your name,” she said, speaking as kindly as possible. “Your
real
name.”

His eyes darted around but he said nothing.

“You should really tell me,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because if your friends find us before mine do, I’ll probably be the last person to ever hear it.”

“The Master named me Scindo,” he said.

“What does your mother call you?”

He hesitated, a kind of sad pause.

“It’s just a name,” she said. “Mine is Danielle.”

He looked around. He seemed to be thinking. His eyes fell for a moment and then he looked at her again. She could only guess at the war going on inside him.

“My mother named me Yousef,” he said as his eyes found the floor. “Yousef Kazim. It was her father’s name.”

“Do you love her?” she asked.

“Of course. I love all my family.” His voice rose. “That is why I fight.”

This was the opening. This was her chance.

“Don’t you understand what will happen if these people get what they want? Don’t you realize that everyone you know will be harmed; everyone you care for will be worse off than before. They will suffer.”

“It will be equal,” he said defensively.

“No,” she said. “It’ll never be equal. Not on earth, not at the hands of men. The rich will still prosper but the poor will be worse off. They will see more misery and starvation, more destruction and pain.”

“The rich will fear them,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “And when they fear them they will pay armies to attack. Your family’s lives will go from tough to miserable. It will happen everywhere. It will be a nightmare. And whatever chance they had once had, whatever hope you thought any of them had, will burn up like paper in the fire. And what will you have accomplished, but to seal their fate forever?”

“This is not true,” he said, growing angry.

“It is,” she said softly. “You know it is.”

“And how will it be any different if I help you?” he said. The question was spat at her with venom, but she sensed there was at least a hint of honesty in it.
How would it be different?

“Lives will be spared,” she said. “Millions of lives. Maybe billions.”

“And my family in La Courneuve?”

“I can’t promise you it will be better,” she said. “But it won’t be worse. At least your mother will still have a son.”

“I will not tell you,” he insisted.

She sensed it slipping away.

“There’s nothing to be gained from this,” she said, feeling desperate now. “No riches, immortality, or fame. Only punishment.”

“There is no God to punish me,” he said.

“Maybe some believe that,” she said, “but you don’t. You have to believe in God to be angry with Him. You hate Him for what He’s given you, but you believe He’s out there.”

“I don’t,” he insisted.

Now he looked away and Danielle knew this was the moment. She had to make him speak or he would retreat back into the shell of Scindo, the false persona that protected him, and they’d never break him in time, no matter what they did.

“Even if that’s the case, you’re still at the end,” she said. “My friends will find us. They’ll take me in chains and they’ll take you somewhere that will seem like the darkest pit of hell. And I promise you, Yousef, they will not stop until they have made you speak every last secret you hold.”

“I will not talk.”

“You will,” she said, pitifully. “If not to me, to them. They’ll break you and you’ll hate yourself for being broken.
And you will have nothing left
.”

He looked up at her.

“And what do you have left?” He finally sounded as sad as her.

“I have myself, Yousef. I did what was right in trying to save you.”

She saw him quiver and look down. The drugs, the lack of sleep, the mental strain, she hoped it had weakened him enough.

“Please,” she asked quietly.

He gazed at the floor.

“Please.”

He did not look up, but staring at the ground, as if in a trance, he finally spoke.

“There’s an island,” he said.

“Where?”

“Out there,” he said, still looking at the ground but nodding toward the south and the Persian Gulf. “There are buildings there, bombed and full of holes. A ship, a freighter I think, it sits on the rocks. That is where they took me.”

He swayed back and forth but still did not look up.

“They must have taken your friend there.”

“Does the island have a name?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Yousef, please. I can stop them,” she said. “But you have to tell me.”

“I hope you stop them,” he mumbled. “It is only an hour by boat. But I don’t know if it even has a name. There are lots of birds there.”

She took a breath. She hoped it was the truth, and she sensed it was the truth. If there was an island with a bombed-out ship beached on the rocks at its edge, one satellite pass would find it. And if they could find it, the terror could be stopped.

“They have missiles,” Yousef said. “I saw them. They are for the virus.”

A chill shot through her as she heard this news. The cult had everything they needed. But it had been only seventeen hours. There was a chance. “Thank you,” she said.

Yousef did not respond. He just stared at the ground. She saw tears hit the floor.

“I’ve done things …,” he said, sounding broken inside.

“We all have,” she told him. He looked up.

“I am a traitor to everyone,” he said, tears filling his
eyes and a panic of sorts growing over him. “I wish you would kill me.”

Her heart felt for him, despite all he’d been a part of, despite everything he’d probably done. He couldn’t have been much more than twenty. He seemed as much a victim as anyone else.

“You don’t deserve to die,” she said.

“They will mock me,” he said, shaking.

She reached out and touched his face, wiping away some of the tears. He was sobbing, breaking down. He looked up, unending tears streaming over his face.

“They will say:
Here is the traitor. Here is Scindo. He rejected the Almighty and then betrayed those who took him in
.”

“No,” she said firmly.

“They will,” he insisted.

“No,” she repeated. “They will say
Here is Yousef Kazim. Who in his darkest hour rejected the devil and gave the world a chance at life
.”

He gazed at her with wide eyes, as if some hope had come back within him. He continued to sob but he said no more.

Several minutes later, Yousef’s cries had ceased, the numbness had returned, and she allowed him, still cuffed, to lie down and finally sleep.

She walked out of the small room, shutting what was left of the door behind her. She continued across the work bay to where she’d parked the car.

A figure stood beside it.

“Did he tell you?” Hawker asked quietly.

She nodded, thankful but exhausted. “Sorry about shooting you,” she said.

He rubbed his shoulder. “It worked. But don’t ever let those riot police tell you rubber bullets don’t hurt.”

“Blood pack was a nice touch.”

“Almost dropped it,” he said.

She nodded, but felt almost emotionless after all that had happened.

“I’ll bring him back to the house,” she said. “I don’t want him to see you.”

There were many reasons for that. Strategically, it made sense to keep the lie going. But mostly she didn’t want Yousef to feel he’d been tricked. He had made an honorable choice, an almost impossible choice. She wanted him to feel whatever goodness might come from what he’d done.

Hawker nodded.

“He’s not evil,” she said. “He just fell.”

“We all fall,” Hawker said.

He seemed to understand. It was one of the things that Danielle found most refreshing in him. He was filled with arrogance at times and self-righteousness, but it was balanced by pity. He could look at the fallen and see himself.

W
ith dusk settling over the Middle East, Danielle sat in the left front seat of a maroon powerboat as it skimmed across the glassy surface of the Persian Gulf. To her right, Hawker’s friend Keegan piloted the craft, while Hawker sat behind them, studying an image on the laptop computer that had been downloaded from the NRI mainframe. The body armor and the AR-15s they’d taken into the desert rested beside him on the bench seat.

A mile ahead she saw the outline of a crude carrier heading their way. The ship rode high in the water, its tanks empty.

“Stay clear of the channel,” she said. “Don’t want to be confused for suicide bombers.”

“Right,” Keegan said. “Any idea where we’re going yet?”

“South,” she said.

“I figured that,” he said, “since we’d need wheels to go north from where we were.”

She moved back to where Hawker was and sat down beside him.

“What do you think?”

He turned the laptop toward her. She’d studied the image briefly when it arrived, but since it would likely come down to planning an assault on the island, she figured Hawker was more qualified to look at it.

“This image came from an NSA satellite?” he asked.

“A pass this morning,” she said. “Caught the island in the sweep, but it wasn’t the target, so the information isn’t as detailed as I’d like.”

“The buildings are all on the south side,” he said. “What isn’t blackened and burned looks abandoned.”

Danielle zoomed in on the island. It couldn’t have been more than an eighth of a mile across. On one side there were bundles of mangled pipes and what looked like pumping equipment. A few control buildings and a helicopter landing platform built out over the water looked shot full of holes and falling apart. A four-hundred-foot vessel lay against the west edge of the island. It was difficult to tell if it was docked or had been run aground.

“Looks like what Yousef described,” she said.

“It also looks abandoned.”

“I believe he told me the truth as he knew it,” she said. “Doesn’t mean they didn’t clear out once they got Sonia or the seeds.”

Hawker nodded. “I believe he told you the truth, too. Do we have an infrared scan?”

“Not on this pass,” she said, then glanced at her watch. “But the second pass should have gone over a few minutes ago. We’ll know if there is activity there any minute now.”

Thirty seconds later the satellite phone lit up. Danielle grabbed it.

For a second all she heard was the buffeting of the wind, caught in her own transceiver’s microphone. She turned to the side, sheltering the phone. Moore’s voice came through.

“Danielle?”

“Go ahead, Arnold.”

“Where are you right now?”

“We’re out in the Gulf, heading due south. Do you have the latest pass?”

“We do,” Moore said. “NSA confirms heat sources from the stranded freighter and some of the other structures. That island should be dark but it’s not.”

About as she’d expected. It was good news. “So this is probably the right place.”

“Seems to be,” Moore said.

There was a shortness in his voice that she didn’t like. As if he was waiting to drop some bad news.

“Where do we meet up with the assault team?” she asked.

“Danielle …”

“We could trail them in,” she said. “Or we could go in with them. Either way they’re going to need our help to confirm what we’re looking for.”

“There’s not going to be an assault team,” Moore said.