Ark (37 page)

“My God,” said Jim.

He thought of Gene and the people he worked with at Los Alamos, and in the next moment he saw them all frozen in yellow light as they gazed into the fireball that had only moments before been the Tabernacle of the Ark. He saw them; Gene, John and his father, the soldiers, even Mr. Megabyte, as they vaporized instantly in the fiery blossom of death that consumed the entire complex.

Jim was seated on the sofa, sweat pouring from his body. How he got there, he wasn’t sure. Softly, as if from a great distance, the word echoed in his mind. “Remember.”

Kas entered the room. “Dinner will be in a few minutes, darling,” she said cheerfully. She paused and looked at the TV. “I wonder what happened. I hope Gene is okay.”

She turned to walk back to the kitchen. Then she stopped and turned back to look at him. “Wait a minute,” she said. “They were all involved in that ark thing of yours, weren’t they? Is that what this is about?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” said Jim.

Jim could feel her eyes on the back of his head.

“Were you out there on the ark project?” she said. “Is that what you were doing?”

“I’m just an artist, Kas. Why would they need me?”

Once it had been fairly easy for Jim to bend the truth. Not that he was a liar. Jim never lied if he could avoid it. But there were times ...

Now the person he loved and trusted the most was asking him a direct question.

Jim bit his lip as he said, “I told you what I was doing. Besides, if they were ever going to build the thing they wouldn’t need me there. My work on that was done long ago. I don’t know what this is about.”

“Well,” said Kas, “the potatoes are nearly done. Stephie’s washing up. You should do the same.”

#

Jim managed to eat, although he didn’t have seconds.

Kas stared at him when he refused dessert. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ll have some later.”

Jim excused himself and went to the bathroom, where he sat down on the closed toilet and shook. His jaw clenched, as did his fists. Like a physical affliction, the shaking spread through his body. Finally it abated, leaving him covered in sweat.

He knew he had to call Aaron. Jim found the note with Aaron’s number in his shirt pocket, slightly damp from perspiration. He picked up the bathroom extension carefully and listened to see if Stephie was using it. Finding the line clear he dialed the number. It rang four times before a woman answered.

Jim recognized Marta’s accent. “Brownstein residence,” she said cautiously.

“It’s Jim. Is Aaron there?”

“Jim? Jim Wilson?”

“Yes, Marta. That is you, isn’t it?” said Jim.

“Oh, Jim,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “I’m so afraid.”

“You’re talking about the news from Los Alamos? Why are you afraid?”

“They killed them all.” She began to sob.

“Can I talk to Aaron? Is he there?”

“Yes,” she said. The phone rattled as Marta put it down.

A moment later Aaron picked it up. “Jim?”

“I saw the news, Aaron,” said Jim. “I can’t talk long. What’s going on?”

“I left John’s employ. And, as far as I know her went back to LA for another test. I think they were killed.”

“You mean Gene and John?”

“Everyone. They’re all dead. I know it!”

Jim refused to accept what Aaron was telling him. “Calm down, Aaron. What are you afraid of? Who killed them?”

“The ... gov ... I can’t say over the phone.”

“You think that the government nuked the site?”

“Yes.”

Jim thought for a moment. “Calm down, Aaron,” he said. “I don’t think that’s true. I’m not sure. I mean it’s just a feeling I have. Listen, just sit tight, relax and keep watching the news. I’ll call you from the studio tomorrow.”

Jim flushed the toilet for the sake of authenticity, then left the bathroom. As soon as he hung up he started to feel queasy. He couldn’t erase the image in his mind of the fireball consuming his friends in Los Alamos. Was it a real vision or just his active imagination? For the rest of the evening he sat in front of the TV in the rec room watching CBN, but no more information was revealed.

The next morning Jim rose early and went to the front walk for the newspaper. The story had made the front page of the Philadelphia Inquirer: “Mystery Blast Mystifies Southwest.” He walked into the house reading the story. Kas called to him from the upstairs window. “Jim, can you walk Woolsey?”

The dog was scratching at Stephie’s door where he’d spent the night. Jim started the coffee machine, then got the dog’s leash. By the time Kas had showered and dressed he had walked the dog and had his coffee. She came down the stairs to find him standing at the front door ready to leave.

“Where are you going? It’s Saturday.”

“I have a little work to do at the Raftworks. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“But Stephie’s softball team is having a tournament today. You can’t miss that.”

Jim got the details from Kas and promised to go directly to the park after work. “I’ll make it. I promise,” he said, giving his wife a hug. “I just have some cleanup and filing to do and I don’t want to do it Monday. We have a busy week scheduled.”

Jim got to the Raftworks at ten. He was beginning to feel like a sneak and a liar. Just to bring some truth to his actions, he busied himself until noon cleaning the studio.

At precisely twelve o’clock Jim called Aaron. Aaron answered immediately. Once he was sure it was Jim, he asked, “Why are you so sure the government didn’t do this?”

“It may sound silly,” said Jim, “but I had a vision. I saw the explosion. It came from the ark.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Of course not. How can I be sure? I said I just ‘feel’ sure. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“Marta thinks they’ll find us all and kill us too,” said Aaron, almost in a whisper.

“If so, we’d probably be dead already,” argued Jim. “All our names were listed on the Thund ... on the project roster. They know who we are.”

“That’s my point.”

“Look, Aaron, I talked to the General and he dismissed me, but I’m not sure that his superiors knew that anyone left the project. For all they know we were killed too. Besides, the General and I discussed the secrecy issue. Who’d believe our story if we tried to tell it?”

Aaron considered what Jim said. “All the same, I’m taking my money and moving to Switzerland.”

Jim was going to ask Aaron where he was staying, but considering Aaron’s current paranoid disposition, he decided against it. “Call me again next week. Say, noon on Wednesday. Okay?”

Aaron agreed and disconnected.

Jim leaned back in his chair and stared at his blank computer screen. He called Gene’s home. The answering machine made an odd sound but wouldn’t take a message. From experience Jim knew that it was full of messages. Next he tried John’s home in Mount Kisco. No one there either. He assumed that Aaron was staying with his family somewhere.

There was nothing to do but wait.

#

Stephie’s team won their tournament six games out of seven. Some irate parent protested that Stephie’s team were older kids. Some of the parents got so angry that a scuffle broke out between two fathers. When the fight broke out Jim hustled Kas and his daughter away from the field.

On the way home Stephie was singing “We are the Champions” while she crowed about her victory and rebuked the losers.

Halfway home Jim exploded in anger. “What’s the matter with people?” he said. “What’s happened to sportsmanship? This damned winner-or-loser mentality is a sickness.”

Stephie was confused and hurt. “But we won, daddy. All the other families are proud of their kids.”

“Aww, Steph, I didn’t mean that. I’m very proud of you, and you have every reason to be proud of your team. I’m just saying that if you’d lost and tried as hard as possible to win, you’d have just as much reason to be proud. Winning and losing isn’t that important.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Stephie.

Their car pulled into the driveway.

Jim got out and took his daughter in his arms. “Don’t ever think that I’m not proud of you. Your double base hit won the last game, and the tournament. That was terrific!”

Stephie hugged her Dad back with all her might. Then, hearing Woolsey barking in the back yard, she ran off to find him. Kas looked at Jim doubtfully. “She missed you a lot when you were gone. She was afraid that you’d miss the entire tournament.”

Jim felt ashamed. “You’re right,” he said sheepishly. “I got caught up in my own affairs. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. We’re a lot wealthier for your efforts,” said Kas, “but now you’re home and I thought...”

“I’ll try to be a better Dad,” said Jim. “I give you my word.”

#

The Sunday paper reported that the military at Los Alamos announced they had tested a new class of fuel-air weapon, but the details were classified. Jim knew otherwise. The vision of the fireball remained vivid in his mind, as did the memory of his experience in the Tabernacle. More than these, the word “remember” kept echoing in his head.

He understood Aaron’s fear. The General had made it clear that Thunderbolt should remain secret at all costs, but for reasons Jim couldn’t fully explain he knew they had nothing to fear. Wednesday came and went without word from Aaron. Then on Friday, a full week after the Los Alamos explosion, Jim got a long distance call from Marta in Switzerland. She told Jim that she and Aaron were starting a life there. “Aaron found a job with a jewelry manufacturer, and he will be staying. They started him right away so he couldn’t call you.” She gave him their address in Geneva.

“You don’t sound afraid any more,” said Jim.

Marta was quiet for a moment. “I can’t talk for very long,” she said. “Aaron wanted me to call and thank you. He says you are right. No one would believe. And there was something else. You’re drawings left out an important detail.” Her statement floored Jim. “What?” But before he could ask Marta what it was she was gone.

Jim thought for a long while and decided to dismiss Marta’s comment. Maybe she was just angry or trying to put off-track anyone who might be tapping her phone. He put down the phone and sat for a long time, thinking. Then he remembered the document that he’d begun long before he went to Los Alamos, his story about the ark. He found the disk that had the file stored on it and put it into his computer. Everything, including scans of the ark drawings, was there.

Jim put the disk in his bag and shut down his computer. When he got home he put the disk into his home computer and started typing.

An hour later Kas walked into the den. “What are you working on?” she asked.

“I thought maybe I’d try my hand at writing,” he said. “I thought I’d take all that material I have about the Ark of the Covenant and maybe turn it into a novel. After all, why not put all that research to good use? I’ve been an artist all my life, and I have a fairly good imagination, and I was thinking that I need a hobby. Why not try writing?”

“Good idea,” said Kas. “You started it a while ago. What will you call your novel?”

“Something simple,” said Jim. “Maybe I’ll call it ‘Ark’.”

THE END