The Thieves of Faith (51 page)

“Now’s not the time, though,” Kelley said as he looked at Busch and Simon.

Michael nodded.

“Martin said Susan showed you my safe room?” Kelley said, referring to the mementoes he kept on Michael.

“Yeah,” Michael said, looking at the man as if for the first time. A man whose room and drawers catalogued Michael’s life in pictures and articles, the life of a son he had given up not out of irresponsibility but out of love, to ensure his newborn child would be provided for in a way that he couldn’t as a single teen parent. He was a father who shared his son’s upbringing only through photos and written words, never through conversations or warm embraces. Susan took it upon herself to share Kelley’s prideful keepsakes with his son; she wanted Michael to know that he truly wasn’t forgotten. Michael was at a loss as he continued to look at the man, not knowing what to say as the air grew thick with tension.

“OK, well…” Kelley said, trying to change the subject. He turned to Martin. “Did you let her know I’m safe?”

Martin said nothing.

“Martin…?” Kelley said.

Martin cast his eyes down.

“Where’s Susan?” Kelley asked, looking around. A hush fell over the group. “Martin?”

“She’s been taken, sir.”

Kelley’s face ran through every emotion: confusion, fury, rage. “What do you mean?”

“A Russian general took her, one of Zivera’s men, a plane left Russia yesterday, we’re pretty sure he brought her here.”

Kelley had seen the business jet when he was escaping; he watched it taxi, he watched as a man and two women exited the plane and were quickly hustled into a car. The anger that washed over him was not directed at Zivera or the men before him, it was at himself. Susan was in his reach and he let her slip away. If he had just waited. “I saw her. My God…” He hung his head. “I didn’t know…”

Martin looked up at Stephen. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Kelley looked at him, his emotions turning to anger. “What do they want with her?”

Everyone was silent.

“What the hell is going on, dammit? Somebody tell me!”

“I would imagine they are going to kill her,” Simon said in his characteristic fatalist fashion.

“Kill her?” Stephen said, awash in confusion. “Why, what did she do?”

“She was with me,” Michael said as he walked up to the man he had only recently learned was his father.

“With you? Michael, what have you done?” The anger quavering his voice. “Why would they kill her?”

Michael looked at Stephen, his conscience overwhelmed by the sadness in his father’s eyes, of Susan’s situation, and all of the things that Stephen had yet to learn: of the box and its contents and of Genevieve’s kidnapping. And though Michael was relieved to see his father, glad that he no longer felt responsible for his life, his determination had not diminished, his job was far from complete. His emotions were on fire in all directions as he fought to calm his mind. And as he regained focus, he finally reached out his hand and rested it on Stephen’s shoulder. “You may not know me beyond surreptitious photos on a wall, but I’m not going to let Susan die. I promise you this, I’ll get her back even if I die in the process.”

Chapter 53

T
he lab was on the far side of the compound.
Thirty feet below ground, behind walls of alternating concrete and steel. Twenty feet thick, they were capable of withstanding anything short of a nuclear blast. The advanced ventilation system exchanged the air every twenty seconds, forgoing scrubbers and recirculators for fresh intake. Each room section was individually sealed and remained under negative pressure.

Its design was more advanced than the United States’ Centers for Disease Control and the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control, and was able to contain the deadliest of agents both chemical and biological.

But as advanced as the facility was, there were certain rudimentary methods that man had still embraced despite all of the advanced technologies. Adjacent to the central lab was a small room, separated by a viewing window. The ductwork was directed through this room and could release whatever toxins were to be evacuated from the adjacent section for further experimentation. It was crude science, dating back centuries, but its brutal method had proven effective. And so the adjacent room was filled with varying degrees of wildlife, from birds to rodents to small primates, each cage monitoring the health or decline of its respective animal: the canary-in-a-coal-mine approach to science.

Three scientists rode the elevator down, wearing expressions like children at the gates of Disney World. Each of them was the top expert in his field of expertise. Hal Jenkins—biological vehicles with a concentration in germ warfare—trained at Johns Hopkins, with twenty years in the U.S. military. He was the foremost expert in the analysis, construction, and destruction of biological agents. Madris Habib possessed a similar aptitude in chemical agents and the design of their countermeasures. Schooled at MIT, he brought his expertise back to the Middle East for eighteen years of success in his desert land. Dr. Bill Lloyd, a former professor at Oxford and a top surgeon, was said to possess an analytical mind that exceeded the high-speed computers he used for his medical research. He was known for his cutting-edge breakthroughs in cancer treatment and an insatiable appetite for conquering disease.

The three men entered the lab, showered, and donned protective suits that were more fitting for outer space than a medical facility. They stood over the gold case with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and pride. The craftsmanship and beauty of the box far exceeded their expectations. It was literally a work of art that none had seen the equal of; the intricate pictures carved into the surface rendered by a master craftsman whose abilities had not been matched in thousands of years.

The three scientists understood the potential of the box before them, having spent the last year reading every stitch of paper that Zivera was able to unearth. Legend spoke of eternal life, of secrets long lost, of God’s hand. As scientists, their skepticism ran deeper than the ocean. They accepted nothing short of substantive proof. While they responded and acted as professionals to Julian’s instructions, they had murmured among themselves about this man at the edge of sanity.

But Dr. Lloyd secretly held out hope. He had seen biblical myths manifest themselves in modern-day reality. He knew full well the Bible’s reference to manna, the revered food of gods. The ancient Mesopotamians called the powdery substance
shem-an-na
and the Egyptians described it as
mfkzt,
while the Alexandrians venerated it as the Paradise Stone. Made into cakes, the mysterious powder was ritually ingested by ancient kings and pharaohs. It was revered as the food of the “light body, the
ka
” and was said to heighten awareness, perception, and intuition, and was considered to be the key to eternal life. And Lloyd had seen its rediscovery in the modern era as m-state gold with many of its mythical properties borne out as fact. What was thought of as a fanciful, almost laughable, substance of magical powers was, in point of fact, real. And so Lloyd held out hope for the box before him. He prayed that the legend was indeed true, and was prepared to accept myth as fact. Lloyd was prepared for a miracle.

But Julian had them prepare for disaster, the worst of the worst-case scenarios: disease and darkness, death and Armageddon. As they each looked at the gold case, they couldn’t help but feel a bit of humor at the implausibility of such a horror being contained in such a small, beautiful box. But each of these men had seen atrocities both man-made and natural. And they knew not to underestimate the ability of something so small to wipe out millions. After all, each of them had created or fought against death agents with similar capabilities that could be held in the recess of a thimble.

They had run the box through multiple scanners, chemical sniffers, and spectrometers but found nothing out of the ordinary that would give them pause. The lock was examined, measured, and understood. They would need only a screwdriver to open it.

Even with the protection of their bio-suits, they opted to open the box remotely, from behind the safety of three feet of glass, and with the benefit of a high-speed ventilator. A clear high-impact containment case was placed over the golden box. Extractors were attached; anything escaping after they unlatched the lock would instantly be recaptured and held in a container certainly more secure than a gold box whose age was beyond comprehension.

Lloyd controlled a pair of remote arms that provided a tactile dexterity finer than his own hands. Habib manned the video setup so that the most minute observations could be made. And Jenkins handled the most important tool: the monitoring and analysis computers, which would identify the contents of the Albero della Vita within seconds of its lid being raised.

“Whenever you are ready, gentlemen.” Zivera’s impatient voice came over the speakers.

Lloyd looked at Habib and Jenkins. While they felt insulated from any danger, it gave him a moment of pause. Julian had shown great confidence in his team and the facility. He had sought each of them out a year earlier for this one task, paying them a salary ten times greater than they could earn in a lifetime. Through their combined efforts, they oversaw the design and construction of the lab for this single purpose. It had remained unused for four months now, awaiting the box that sat on the other side of the glass. Zivera had assured them that if the contents of the box were destructive, he would bury it immediately, safe from causing harm to the world. But they had each heard that claim before. History had seen the development of chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons, all of which had grown out of benign research, out of seeking answers, out of seeking ways to help society. Governments always spearheaded funding such research, but knowledge-seeking, altruistic scientists had witnessed time and time again their government’s return to claim ownership and turn their scientific discoveries on their heads for military supremacy.

Lloyd did not see this as a religious pursuit on behalf of Zivera. Lloyd understood God’s Truth, the marrying of science and religion. But this was neither. This was simply a man’s obsession with his own immortality. But the chance to be on the edge of such a groundbreaking discovery was too alluring to the scientist in him, to the scientists next to him. Zivera had paid for it all, he had paid for them, and was expecting them to do the task that lay before them. He trusted them, he trusted the facility that they designed.

“Is there a problem?” the omniscient voice of Zivera called.

Habib and Jenkins looked to Lloyd. They shared an unspoken moment on the edge of a new frontier and smiled at the voice. For as much as Zivera trusted them, for as much as he said he felt no danger, he was as far away as possible from the event that was about to unfold.

Lloyd slid his hands into the control gloves and stretched out his arms. The mechanical arms on the other side of the glass mimicked his every move. He flexed each finger, twisted his wrists, and clapped his hands. The mechanical hands followed him to the letter, ending in a loud metal-on-metal
clang.
Habib started the digital recorders and adjusted the focus on each of the four cameras. Jenkins took one final air reading as a baseline and nodded to Lloyd.

The left mechanical hand stretched out and picked up the screwdriver. Lloyd gently inserted it in the keyhole and, with his right mechanical hand, steadied the golden box. He gave it one half turn and they all heard the amplified
click
over the speakers.

Jenkins checked the air readings. No change.

Habib adjusted one of the cameras, pulling the image of the box in tight on the monitor. He flipped a side switch and a bright halogen light illuminated the top of the box, sending gold shadows fluttering about the room.

Lloyd steadied the base of the box with his right mechanical hand and with his left, he slowly lifted the lid.

Habib’s eyes were glued to the monitor as the ornate gold top tilted back on its hinges. The mechanical arms obscured the view briefly before Lloyd pulled them back. They held their collective breath. Lloyd looked from the box to the close-up view of the monitor.

Habib craned his neck in for a closer view.

Jenkins checked the air and then checked the air again. Readings were coming in every tenth of a second.

For a year they had prepared, they had taken every scenario into consideration. But as they stared at the box on the other side of the glass, as they stared at the monitors and computer readout, they realized this was the one contingency they were not prepared for.