SecondWorld (27 page)

“Just happy to be alive,” she said.

“Well, let’s try to stay alive for a bit longer,” Miller replied, but she had got them to the small village quickly. The terra-cotta-colored roofs and stark white walls of Ludwikowice Kłodzkie’s homes and buildings, glowing in the late-morning sun, came into view after only thirty-five minutes.

Adler slowed as they entered the town on Route 381. The majority of the village was situated around the road, which cut through the center of a valley. Green slopes and patches of forest completed the image of a picturesque European village that most would see as a perfect getaway, but Miller knew it hid dark secrets of the not-too-distant past. Still, the cool breeze and pleasing scent of fresh-cut hay did a lot to ease his nerves.

They pulled into a small roadside shop. Adler put the car in park, took a deep breath, and let it out with a smile. “I love this area,” she said.

Miller and Brodeur looked far less thrilled.

“Just get me out of this rodeo car and let me stretch,” Brodeur said.

Miller opened his door and tilted the front seat forward so Brodeur could get out.

Adler rounded the car and headed for the shop. “I’ll see if I can get directions to the henge.”

Brodeur climbed out of the car, removed his suit jacket, and stretched with a grunt, first touching his toes and then leaning side to side. An old woman with wrinkled jowls and cold blue eyes rode past on a bicycle. A basket on the front held several jars of pickles. Brodeur gave a wave and said, “Howdy,” but the woman just kept on riding.

“Well, she’s a grumpy old gal,” Brodeur said.

“You look like a Mormon warming up for a round of door-to-door evangelizing,” Miller said. “She was probably worried about you taking her bike.”

Before Brodeur could come up with a comeback, Adler exited the shop. “We just missed it.”

Miller stood by the tilted seat and swept his hands toward the backseat, motioning for Brodeur to enter. “Your chariot awaits.”

“I’m starting to hate you,” Brodeur said, but quickly entered.

Adler spun the tires as she turned the car around and went back the way they came. After just three hundred feet, she made a hard left turn and sped up a small, roughly paved road. The street, lined with a mix of oak and pine trees, reminded Miller of their brief visit to the New Hampshire lake house. His discussion with Huber already felt like a lifetime ago.

They passed beneath a tall railroad bridge and watched as another mile of unremarkable terrain went by, along with a few nondescript, but large buildings. Then, the road on the right cleared and the ruins of a massive building came into view. The building was long and tall, and clearly not that old, but looked as worn as the Roman Colosseum. The only sign of recent use was phallic graffiti covering several of the walls. The images were impossible to miss, but no one remarked on them. They were close and eager to find the henge, and hopefully Milos Vesely along with it.

Miller racked the slide of each handgun, chambering rounds in both. Adler holstered hers at the hip. Brodeur threw his jacket on, despite the heat, to hide the two MP5s strapped beneath his arms.

Gravel crunched beneath Miller’s feet as he exited the car. The air here felt warmer, and smelled of dust.

“Around the back,” Adler said.

The threesome walked slowly and quietly around the building. Bees buzzed in the overgrowth rising up through the cracks of what was once a large area of concrete. When they reached the back of the building and saw more of the same, Miller said, “This doesn’t look anything like the picture in the book.”

“Through the trees,” Adler said, pointing to a stand of leafy trees that swayed in the breeze. The swishing leaves transported Miller back to Key Largo again, where the dry palms scratched against each other. He looked up at the sky, confirmed it was still blue, and struck out for the trees.

The temperature dropped in the shadow of the woods, and Miller drew his weapon.

“Hear something?” Brodeur asked, his hand inside his jacket, ready to draw an MP5.

Miller shook his head. “Just tired of being caught with my pants down.”

Brodeur pulled out one of the MP5s and gave a nod.

The trees began to thin and Miller saw the unnatural straight lines of human construction in a clearing ahead. He motioned for Adler and Brodeur to wait and moved ahead alone.

The concrete henge stood half in the forest and half in the clearing. Trees had grown up around it in the past years and a few small saplings rose from its center. Eleven interconnected concrete columns formed the modern monolith. Within the ring, the ground dipped down, revealing where a basin had once been before the forest reclaimed the site. The place felt otherworldly, as though torn from the pages of a fantasy novel. Miller entered the clearing of tall grass, scanning back and forth, looking over his gunsight. Other than the henge, he saw nothing important.

No hostiles.

No Vesely.

“Survivor?”

The voice startled him and spun him around. It sounded like Vesely, but he wouldn’t let his guard down until he erased all doubt. He saw no one and realized that he must have walked right past Vesely.
Where the hell is he?

“Is that you, Survivor?”

The repeated use of Vesely’s code name for Miller made him realize it was an identity test. Only he and Vesely knew of the names the man had given them both. “It’s me, Cowboy,” he said, and lowered his weapon.

The ground in front of him came to life. Leaf litter fell away from the lanky man’s body. He wore blue jeans, a plaid flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a pair of leather boots, and a cowboy hat. Vesely slapped the dirt and leaves off of his hat and placed it back on his head. He flashed Miller a smile, strode right up to him, and shook his hand.

“I am happy to see you,” Vesely said.

“I’m happy you’re alive,” Miller replied. “Things didn’t sound too good before we were disconnected.”

“Meh,” Vesely said, giving a dismissive wave. “They sent only two men.” He looked down at his belt where two .38 Supers were strapped to his hips. The .38 Super held six rounds, each easily powerful enough to make a one-shot kill, even if the head or chest weren’t struck—people missing limbs tended to bleed out fairly fast. “I had enough for twelve.”

Miller smiled. The man’s thick accent, eccentric dress, and cocky attitude amused him. But he knew Vesely had been attacked, and had somehow survived, so despite his comical appearance, he might actually know how to use the handguns.

“Just so you know, I’m not here alone,” Miller warned.

“This is good. A battle of this size should not be fought by just two men. How many do you have?”

Miller called out, “Come on out,” into the woods. He knew Vesely would be disappointed when he saw the army of two come out of the woods, but hey, now there were four of them. Arwen would be proud. His very own fellowship. Now they just needed a few elves and hobbits and they’d be all set.

Adler came out of the woods first, putting her handgun away.

“Gut, Sie kennenzulernen,”
she said.
Good to meet you.

Vesely’s head cocked to the side. “You are German?”

“
Ja.
I’m an Interpol liaison to the U.S.”

He squinted at her. “Have we met?”

Adler fought a smile. “I think I would remember if we had.”

“It’s your eyes,” Vesely said, then shrugged. “I must be mistaken. What is your name?”

Adler held out her hand. “Elizabeth Adler, nice to finally meet—”

Faster than Miller had ever seen, Vesely drew his .38 and leveled it at Adler’s forehead. Not only did the man know how to use his weapons, Miller had no doubt his quick draw could match Billy the Kid.

“You colored your hair,” Vesely said, “but you cannot hide your grandmother’s eyes.”

38

“Do you know who this woman is?” Vesely said to Miller, his voice filled with suspicion.

“Her grandmother worked for the Nazis, yes,” Miller said, and then pointed to the .38. “Mind putting that down?”

Vesely kept the gun raised. “They couldn’t have done it without her. She brought the red sky on all of us.”

“I am not my grandmother,” Adler said, her hands raised.

“And we wouldn’t be here without her,” Miller said. “She kept a journal detailing her calculations and everyone involved. It’s how we found Huber.”

Vesely looked Miller in the eyes. “You have this journal?”

“It is in the car,” Adler said, thankful that she’d managed to hang on to her bag through all of their journeys and chases.

“You trust her?” he asked Miller.

“With my life.”

Before Vesely could lower his weapon, a gun pressed between his shoulder blades. “Put it down, cowboy.”

The Southern drawl of Brodeur’s voice put a smile on Vesely’s face. “You are from Texas, no?”

“You got it.”

“Where in Texas?”

“Amarillo,” Brodeur said. “Born and raised in the panhandle.”

“Then you are for-real cowboy?” Vesely asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

“I’m for-real FBI, and if you don’t lower your weapon, I’m going to put a for-real hole in your for-real back. You following me?”

Vesely holstered the weapon and turned around to look at Brodeur. He looked him up and down, scrunching his face like he’d just smelled something foul. “FBI, yes. Cowboy, no. From Texas and not even boots.” He shook his head.

“I drive a car, too,” Brodeur said. “Hard to catch bad guys on horseback these days.”

Vesely let out a hearty laugh and all four relaxed. “I will call you Tex.” He looked at Adler, suspicion creeping back into his eyes. “And you … you will be Chameleon because I suspect you have yet to reveal your true colors.”

Adler shook her head with a roll of her eyes. “
Genug!
We just flew halfway around the world to meet with you.”

“Of course,” Vesely said. “What would you like to know first?”

“We know what was in your book,” Miller said.

“You have my book?” Vesely looked pleased.

“It’s on Google.”

After muttering a string of Czech curses, Vesely said, “Then you know its general construction, who was involved—” He gave Adler a sideways glance. “—and the effects it had on anyone unfortunate enough to stand too close to it.” He looked at the concrete henge. “Were we standing this close during a test, we would be dead in seconds, the fluids and materials that make up our bodies separated. Is like melting.”

Miller remembered the description from Vesely’s book. “The problem is, people aren’t being melted. They’re being suffocated in the open air. So far, nothing we know about the Bell explains how iron clouds from the solar system’s heliopause are being oxidized in our atmosphere.”

Vesely’s eyes widened. “Heliopause? What is this you speak of?”

“Huber told us about it,” Adler said. “It’s a place beyond our solar system. Something about the solar wind, and the galaxy’s ions. It’s where a vast cloud of refined iron particles was trapped until low sunspot activity and a specific alignment of the planets allowed the particles to enter the solar system.”

“Ahh,” Vesely said. “That is where the iron is coming from. I wondered how they could reproduce the tests done here on such a grand scale.”

“Miami, Tokyo, and Tel Aviv were tests,” Miller said. “The grand finale involves the whole planet.”

Vesely nodded and wandered away. He bent down, plucked a long, dry strand of grass, and put it in his mouth. “I should have known.”

“How could you?” Brodeur asked.

“Is my job to know. Or at least to surmise. But I did not think even they would commit global genocide. The first targets made sense. Miami is major U.S. city known for its … alternative lifestyles and has large Cuban population. Tokyo was targeted, I suspect, because the Nazis held a grudge against the Japanese. Had they not attacked Pearl Harbor, the Americans might not have entered the war and things would have most likely ended very differently. And Tel Aviv, well, that’s obvious. I thought more attacks would come. That they would follow pattern. Domination, not eradication.” Vesely removed the grass from his mouth. “But if they are dependent on the solar system to deliver iron particles, perhaps we can predict when they will strike next?”

“Huber already did,” Miller said. “We have four days.”

The news seemed to weaken Vesely. First he lowered his head, then knelt down on one knee. “We must move quickly,” he said. “There is much distance to cover. But first I must show you.”

Vesely tore away clumps of the tall grass, revealing a patch of topsoil. “The connection between the Bell and the attacks is here, in the earth.” He dug into the dirt, scooping out handfuls of dark brown soil. After digging down eight inches, he sat back and let them see his handiwork.

Miller noticed the oddity first. The top layer of soil was dark, composed of fresh decomposition. Beneath that was a band of drier, lighter brown soil, and beneath that a sandy layer full of small stones and chips of concrete. But it was the thin layer separating the soil from the sand that captured his full attention. He immediately recognized the horrible red hue. “Rust,” he said.