The Tenth Saint (41 page)

He waved toward the screen, which showed a photo of the Monaco Oceanographic Museum. “Now I would like to call your attention to an incident many of us are familiar with. In the eighties—1984, to be precise—a species of algae called
Caulerpa taxifolia
was accidentally released into waters off the coast of Monaco. When this algae came into contact with the Mediterranean Sea, it grew out of control and threatened the delicate ecosystem. It grew to cover some seventy-four hundred acres of the sea and choked or crowded out native plants, altering the ecological balance so much that many studies show more than half the species of fish have been eradicated in areas of the infestation.

“I share with you these facts, ladies and gentlemen, because they illustrate just how volatile algae can be under extreme conditions. This alone should be reason to give you pause about approving a project such as Poseidon. But let me take it a step further.”

He nodded to the laptop operator to bring up a series of images from the Donovan plant in Texas. “You have already heard from Sandor Hughes that Donovan Geodynamics is growing algae in a bioreactor and that this algae has been genetically engineered to be hardier than its naturally occurring counterparts and able to withstand extreme temperatures and environmental toxins without blooming out of control. You also heard him say that the Poseidon algae has been propagated, and I quote, ‘in vast proportions.’ But there is something that Mr. Hughes did not tell you.”

Stuart paused and took a sip of water. The room was quiet as a morgue.

“Beneath the Donovan bioreactor facility in Texas is a sophisticated maze of pipes we believe acts as a sewer of sorts, diverting captured carbon and algal waste to an unknown subterranean location. And the reason we believe so is this: last year, Oceanus conducted water tests off the western coast of Greenland in an effort to determine why so much marine life had been compromised and why the local population of Kalaallit peoples had for years been on the decline. What we found, ladies and gentlemen of the Alliance, was excessively high concentrations of carbon dioxide— more than twenty times the normal levels.
Twenty times.
But that’s not all. We also found traces of decomposed algae that did not fit the biological profile of blue-green algae at all. According to our researchers, the algae we found in Baffin Bay had been genetically modified. A coincidence? Maybe. But maybe not.”

Whispers erupted in the audience, and an air of agitation descended upon the assembly hall.

Hughes, sitting in a wheelchair in the front row of the audience, stood and supported himself with his cane. His face was flushed, his breathing labored. “Lies,” he bellowed as he pointed at Stuart, his arm shaking. “Mister Chairman, esteemed Alliance members, forgive this interruption, but I cannot allow such rubbish to be spoken in a venerated forum such as this. These are pie-in-the-sky theories that are one hundred percent unfounded. Mr. Ericsson is taking something that is a fact, which is the naturally rising levels of carbon dioxide in the seas of the Arctic Circle, and fabricating theories around it. What he is suggesting here is simply false, and I will not stand for it.”

The chairman stood from his seat on the third level of the delegate amphitheater. He tapped his gavel thrice. “Mr. Hughes, you are out of line here. The floor belongs to Mr. Ericsson. You may reserve your comments for the end of the presentation, but such outbursts simply will not be allowed. Mr. Ericsson, please continue.”

Stuart gave the double nod to the laptop operator, a signal to switch windows and call in to the Cambridge intranet.

“Mr. Hughes, if these statements are false, then how do you explain this?” He pointed to the projection screen, but nothing came up. The login had been authenticated, but there was no transmission. The screen was black, with only the words
Waiting
for transmission
flashing in the lower left corner. “It appears we are having technical difficulty.” Stuart turned to the operator again. “Try again.”

The second attempt yielded the same result. Daniel shifted in his seat, his brow wrinkled with worry. He quickly sent another text:
Transmit NOW.

There was no reply, and Daniel feared the worst.

Stuart turned to look at him, his eyes wide.

Daniel shook his head.

At that moment, the metal double doors of the assembly hall opened, and all heads turned to watch Sarah enter the room.

Thirty-Six

T
he left side of Sarah’s forehead was scraped raw, and the palms of her hands were crusted with blood and asphalt. Her sleeve was ripped from the shoulder to the elbow, revealing a nasty purple contusion beneath. She was limping, her twisted knee sending sharp stabs into her thigh, but she felt strong. All eyes were upon her—including, she knew, her father’s.

She imagined the old boy would be fuming over her unexpected entrance, the state of her appearance, and the public humiliation she had, once again, brought upon him. She did her best to avoid his eyes as she quickly scanned the room to locate Daniel in the crowd. What she couldn’t avoid was Hughes’ caustic glare. His usually flushed complexion turned the shallow gray of a marble statue. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, and she could feel the fire of his wrath. She turned away from him and did what she had come there to do.

Standing in front of a mic near the audience seats, she spoke. “Mister Chairman, members of the assembly, please excuse my bold intrusion, but I am here to deliver something to Mr. Ericsson that is vital to his presentation.” She was calm and composed. “Unfortunately, I had an unforeseen encounter and was delayed.”

The chairman looked over his glasses at her and then at Stuart, who nodded his approval. “You may approach,” he told her.

Sarah hobbled toward the front of the room, and Stuart immediately left the podium to meet her halfway. He shot her a baffled look, but there was no time for words. She leaned in and whispered some instructions, then handed him her watch. He squeezed her hand, and she mouthed, “Good luck.”

Stuart looked down at the face of the watch, which indicated the record mode. He put his thumb on the play button and said, “If I may, Mister Chairman, I would like to submit a voice recording as evidence of Donovan’s ill intent toward the environment and native peoples of Greenland.”

He pressed the button, and the audience heard the dialogue between Hughes and Sarah:

“Greenland is a country rich in geothermal resources, though they haven’t been exploited nearly enough. We have been funding a Norwegian research team there for the past six years. The deal is, we help them build a plant to harness geothermal energy that can be funneled to the Western world, and they let us run our, shall we say, experiments offshore. Our researchers found the manuscript fragments while examining different sites for boring feasibility. Does that answer your question?”

“Say I do accept your offer. What would be in it for you?”

“Your loyalty. I would fund your operation completely and give you carte blanche to run your dog-and-pony show any way you please. In return, you would pledge to me your full loyalty. No questioning. No interfering. You do your job, and you let me do mine. Do you need me to spell it out further?”

“The voice you just heard,” Stuart said, “is that of Sandor Hughes. And to borrow his words, do you need this to be spelled out further? I think not.”

“This is nonsense. It proves nothing. This is taken completely out of context. Mister Chairman, please.” Hughes, clearly agitated, choked on his words and succumbed to a violent coughing fit.

The assembly hall became a beehive of noise as everyone tried to make sense of what was going on.

The chairman pounded his gavel. “Order, order!”

The image flashed on the projection screen, and the room fell silent. The video camera panned across a dark catacomb of steel pipes. Naked blue light from a few wall-mounted fixtures cast a ghostly halo on the piping, so only their outlines were visible. The image was dark and silent but for a maze of bones.

Sarah’s plan was working. Brehan had gained access to the Donovan facility by posing as a messenger of the deceased Matakala, there to hand deliver the package Matakala had intended to send just before his death. When inside, he snuck into the engine room and activated the video camera on Sarah’s expedition cap.

As Sarah watched the images flash on the screen, she felt sick with regret for placing Brehan in the path of danger. He had gone willingly, prepared for the worst. For Brehan, it was retribution for his brother’s death, the destruction of Ethiopian sacred ground, the defilement of holy relics. Being a martyr for upholding the message of the tenth saint was not only his duty; it was an honor. But for Sarah, it was one more life on the line in a battlefield that had already claimed so many. Brehan’s presence in the Donovan pipeline facility could seal the fate of Poseidon. But at what price?

Have faith,
she kept repeating to herself, her heart pounding in her throat.
Have faith.

Brehan began descending a spiral staircase, following the pipeline about a hundred feet.
What is he doing?
Sarah had specifically told him to record the image, then get out. Now he was taking the plan a step further.
This is suicidal,
she thought.
Get out, damn it. Get out now!

As every eye in the assembly hall watched the image on the screen, Brehan suddenly stopped descending. He froze for a moment, then jerked his head upward. Sarah’s body trembled involuntarily. Something was wrong. A faint voice could be heard in the background and then the downward descent resumed, this time faster and more frantic. The barrage of rapid footsteps on metal treads sounded across the room.

Brehan was being chased.

The voice came closer. “Stop right there.”

An alarm sounded, signaling that there was an intruder. The camera registered nothing but a blur of metal. Sarah could hardly breathe as she watched the images with wide-eyed horror. What she feared most was coming to pass. When the shot thundered across the engine room, she fell to her knees. At the sight of the freefall of the monk’s limp body fifty feet to the bottom of the pipeline, she dropped her head to her hands.

Sarah gasped for air. The room was in chaos, the verbal exchanges reaching a deafening pitch, but all she heard was her own inner voice repeating the words Hughes had spoken to her earlier that morning:
In wartime, a few fall for the benefit of many. Nothing comes without sacrifice.

She looked up and saw the final image flashing on the screen. It was a guard in a uniform bearing the Donovan logo, shining a flashlight on his victim. He called out to his partner. “Hey, Charlie, I have the body over here.”

The screen went black.

The Alliance chairman stood, his glazed look indicating that he was numb with shock. He composed himself. “I think we have seen enough. Delegates of the Alliance, you have heard from both sides, and it is time now to cast your vote. We will convene in the assembly room and return to deliver the results. Audience, remain seated until the delegates return.”

The delegates left the room single file. A hushed murmur fell over the audience.

Sarah exhaled. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion as she tried to reconcile the events of the last twenty-four hours. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned around to see Daniel. Unable to utter a word, they embraced.

Ten minutes later, the Alliance members returned and reclaimed their seats in the amphitheater. The chairman remained standing as he made his announcement.

“Esteemed delegates of the Alliance, ladies and gentlemen of the assembly, we have tabulated the results. In the matter of funding and sanctioning Donovan Geodynamics’ continued research for the Poseidon project, the vote is eleven delegates for, thirty-four against. Further to this decision, the Alliance will work with the appropriate enforcement entities to inspect the Donovan bioreactor plant for any evidence of transgression and will act accordingly.” He gave two quick taps to his gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”

In a matter of seconds, Sarah was surrounded by Stuart and his Oceanus board members, every one of them ebullient and giddy with victory. Their comments were a blur of congratulations and thanks, droning in her ears like bubbles underwater. She smiled graciously, but in her heart she wondered if this victory was worth the price.

Over the gray-suited shoulders, she caught a glimpse of her father. Sir Richard, who was obviously waiting to catch her eye, clenched his square jaw and shook his head. His eyes were hard, betraying the black hole that was his heart. He turned and walked out of the room, and she knew there was no going home again.

Sarah did not flinch. She straightened her shoulders and looked at Daniel. “Let’s get out of here.”

On their way out, they walked past Chairman Hughes. He clapped his hands aggressively. “Congratulations, young lady.” His voice was stiff, his gaze vicious. “You’ve sealed our fate.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Fate, sir, is not mine to seal. Nor yours.”

Daniel put his arm around her shoulder and led her outside. As he hailed a cab, she saw two swallows flying overhead in a perfect figure eight: the symbol of infinity. The tears in her eyes formed prisms that broke the sunlight into hundreds of tiny crystals, each one a microcosm of dancing color. She blinked, and the illusion was gone.