The Eden Prophecy (38 page)

“But these bastards didn’t kill themselves.”

“Neither did all those people,” she assured him. “Plenty who didn’t want to go were
helped
along.”

Hawker seemed to understand what she was saying, but he also seemed to have doubts. “Yeah, but those groups were about to lose. These people are in their moment of victory.”

She agreed that was a difference, but they were still dealing with an apocalyptic cult.

“I’m telling you something’s wrong here,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but we’re misreading something. I feel it in my bones.”

She felt differently. “Endgame,” she repeated, looking at her watch. “And we have eight minutes.”

C
aptain Laurence Petrie of the guided missile cruiser USS
Shiloh
stood watch on the bridge studying the orders that had come in from the commander in chief of Persian Gulf forces. His communications officer and the officer of the deck stood at attention, awaiting a response.

The orders directed him to launch a Series of eight Tomahawk missiles against a single target. That alone was strange. The Tomahawk carried a hell of a kick, either a thousand-pound high-explosive warhead or what the navy called a combined effects bomb, which spread a hundred smaller warheads over a wide area, all designed to explode roughly simultaneously.

The combined effects bomb created a wide killing zone filled with flying shrapnel, explosive concussion waves, and, from the incendiary core of the charges, a storm of overlapping flame that burned well above a thousand degrees Celsius.

The fact that eight such weapons were being directed against the same target surprised him. In Iraq, Afghanistan, and most recently Libya, the weapons were used primarily in ones and twos, usually against air defense systems or hardened command and control bunkers. When the papers reported a hundred missiles fired they were usually fired at a hundred different targets. The idea
of launching eight missiles against a single target sounded like massive overkill.

The fact that the target was an abandoned rock in Iranian waters made the order seem even stranger.

“Did you confirm this order, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” the communications officer said. “All proper communication protocols were followed and verified. The order is authentic.”

“I’m not worried about its authenticity,” the captain said. “I don’t think anyone broke into the communications suite in Qatar and pranked us. But I’m concerned with its accuracy. I don’t want to find out after the fact that we fired eight of those multimillion-dollar birds when we were supposed to fire one.”

The officer of the deck spoke up. “Sir, the rest of the order indicates this is a joint operation. The
San Jacinto
and the
Bunker Hill
will be firing equivalent number of missiles as well. The
Normandy
has been placed on standby should either we or any of the other vessels have operational difficulties that prevent us from firing.”

Captain Petrie glanced at the rest of the order.
Twenty-four missiles aimed at a single target
. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Whatever’s on that island,” the officer of the deck added, “command wants it erased from existence.”

Silently, Captain Petrie had to agree. He folded the order sheet and handed it back to the officer of the deck.

“Sound general quarters,” he said. “Prepare to launch missiles.”

Within seconds the whooping sound of the general quarters alarm was reverberating throughout the ship, accompanied by the words
This is not a drill
.

H
awker and Danielle continued across the island, arriving in sight of the ruined buildings, pump houses, and battered helipad.

Hawker studied the layout. One building had a small amount of light inside. The others were dark. The grounded freighter lay just beyond, leaning toward the helipad. It loomed large in the darkness, tilted at such an odd angle and far too close to the buildings on the land.

There was a strange, apocalyptic aura to the scene, as if the world had already run down and all that remained was dark, lifeless rock, still waters, and the battered machines of man.

A muted hooting to the left reminded him that some life still existed.

Through the night-vision scope he could see one of the gangly long-winged cormorants moving around in its nest, plucking and pulling at what looked like a power cord or a drip line of some kind, like those used in landscaping.

“There’s a heat source in that shack,” Danielle told him. “No movement, though.”

Hawker could guess what she was thinking. “Better hit it anyway.”

He raised his rifle, screwed in the suppressor, and aimed. Pressing lightly with his finger, he activated the laser sight.
The red dot appeared on the building, clearly visible for both him and Danielle to see.

“Left four feet,” she said, matching the thermal reading with the reflection of the tiny laser.

Hawker adjusted his aim.

“Down one foot.”

He lowered the rifle.

“Fire.”

Theut, theut
. Two shots went out. Then two more.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Whatever it was, you hit it,” she said, staring through the scope a little longer. “But it never moved.”

Hawker got up and dashed to the small building. It was nothing more than a metal frame with blown-out windows. It looked like a tollbooth.

Inside lay pump controls, some corroded, others looking newer. One of the cult members lay dead on the floor, exactly where Hawker had hit him. The bullet holes from his rifle were obvious, but there was little blood oozing from the wounds.

Danielle came in behind him.

“Dead?”

“Already dead when I hit him,” Hawker said. “These guys are killing off their own, just like you said.”

“That’s not a good sign,” she replied.

“No,” he agreed. Even though he couldn’t understand it, even though it still felt slightly off to him, it certainly seemed like a final act. It only increased his fear for Sonia.

“Come on.”

They climbed down a rickety flight of steps that clung to the edge of the rock wall and led to the helipad. From there they dropped onto the ship. Moments later they were crawling along the aft section of the beached freighter. And still no one challenged them.

A new thought sprang to mind. Maybe the final act was over. Maybe they were already too late.

The accommodations block at the rear of the freighter stuck up like a giant tombstone from the flat deck of the ship. They made their way inside, checking several compartments.

In one they found two more dead men. One of the bodies lay slumped forward in a chair, its head on a desk as if the man were asleep. The other lay sprawled on the deck.

Hawker pulled the sitting man’s head back. The man was blue, his tongue bulging in his mouth as if he’d been poisoned.

Without someone to tell them if the lab or the prisoners were even on board, they’d have to go compartment to compartment.

“You need to go for the missiles,” he said. “Whatever else happens we have to make sure they don’t launch.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going deeper,” he said. “This isn’t a cruise ship. If they’re here, they’ll be in the accommodations block. The rest are just cargo holds.”

Danielle nodded. “Be careful,” she said, and then she ducked out the door.

Hawker placed the dead man’s head back down on the desk and began to move. He continued to be cautious for a moment and then began to move faster. From door to door, compartment to compartment. Most were empty, but a few held dead bodies.

Down the stairs he went. The next level was the same. A ship of the dead. He hoped Sonia, her sister, and aunt were not among them.

Sonia Milan stood in the gleaming white confines of a lab in the deep recesses of the grounded freighter. Draco
and a man he called Cruor, who seemed to be his first lieutenant, stood by.

She finished looking through the microscope in front of her. There would be no proof that what she’d done would work until it was tested and the test subject’s altered DNA was examined, but she knew what she was doing and the samples in front of her all showed the desired effects.

“It’s working,” she said. “The cell cultures are dividing as they should. The new DNA is in place.”

The Eden serum had been extracted from the seeds. The dormant virus revived and mated with the UN carrier virus. Under the electron microscope, the DNA fragment from the seed they’d recovered at the Garden had taken its place perfectly. The new cells showed lengthened telomeres.

Beside her a Series of tubes marked with white stripes were filling slowly with the virus she’d created. The delivery system now had its payload.

“You’re sure,” Draco asked.

“We should test it on—”

“We have our lab rat,” he said. He moved to the rear of the lab, where little Nadia lay strapped to a gurney like a patient in a psych ward. She wasn’t moving.

“What have you done to her?” Sonia exclaimed.

“She wouldn’t stop crying so I had her sedated,” Draco said. “But if you’ve done what you said, she will soon be on the road to recovery.”

“And the rest of the world?”

“Different road,” he said. “Different destination.”

“There’s no need for this,” Sonia pleaded. “We can test it on the animals. We can test it on rats, not people.”

“I have no argument with the rats,” he said. “It’s humans I want to fear me.”

“It wouldn’t take long. I would—”

“You would stall and procrastinate!” he shouted. “You
would keep me waiting hoping that some rescue would come.”

“No,” she said, realizing she would have tried exactly that. “But this might not work as we—”

“You’d better hope it works,” he said. “Or Nadia will die and then we’ll start dragging people off the street and you can accidentally kill them one by one until you get it right. Do you understand me?”

Before she could answer, an alarm on some hastily rigged piece of equipment began chirping.

“Motion sensors,” Cruor said. “We have visitors.”

Draco looked surprised, and for the first time, uncomfortable. “They’re early. They’re more resourceful than I thought.”

“They’ll kill you,” Sonia said, trying anything to put some fear and doubt into the man. “Even if you kill me, Hawker will find you and he’ll kill you. I promise you that.”

The backhand she’d expected the day before finally came, catching her across the face and sending her to the floor. Her eye began to swell.

“You think I didn’t expect this?” he said. “It’s just a timing problem. Fortunately our two viruses are ready.”

“What do we do?” Cruor said.

“We get to see their end in person, and then leave,” Draco said.

Cruor seemed nervous to her. Strange, since he was huge and menacing, but apparently he was the follower.

“They’re eminently predictable,” Draco insisted. “The woman will go for the missiles, because that’s her job and she does what she’s supposed to do. The man will come for this one, because that’s what he does. Orders don’t matter to him. But a damsel or two in distress …”

“I will wait with you,” Cruor said.

“I have a place for you,” Draco said. “Are the others dead?”

Cruor nodded.

“Good,” Draco said. “They were not worthy. We will do better next time.”

A second alarm began to chirp.

“They’re splitting up,” Cruor said. “One on the deck, one inside.”

Draco began to laugh. “As I said: predictable.”

Hawker had made it to the bottom deck. He broke into a larger bay and stopped. Crates lay on the floor. Long, rectangular crates. They were empty, but he knew what they were. He’d seen them before, in La Bruzca’s warehouse.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

These were the very crates La Bruzca had insisted were for another buyer. In some ways it didn’t surprise him that La Bruzca had sold the missiles to the cult, but like everything else it was just too convenient.

He thought back to the meeting with La Bruzca. He could hear La Bruzca’s sinister tone as he intimated that he knew more about Hawker than the rest of the world did. Could it have some connection? He found it hard to believe events could really have come full circle.

There are no coincidences, he reminded himself, but what the hell did it all mean?

He glanced at his watch. In seven minutes it wouldn’t matter.

As Hawker continued the search below, Danielle crossed the main deck. A hint of moonlight had appeared on the horizon, though the moon had yet to show its face.

Getting her bearings she moved toward the bow. She remembered Moore saying the missiles appeared to be located forward, placed on rather obviously built launch rails.

Getting away from the accommodations block, she darted forward in spurts, passing various cargo hatches and covers. Every step out into the open felt like she was inviting a sniper to put a round through her heart.

It was still coal black in the shadows but that didn’t stop someone from having a night-vision scope. And in a minute the moon would be up and she would be painted with each step.

She hurried and quickly reached the forward section. There, between the two crane booms that might have once hoisted cargo out of the holds, she saw the launch ramps Moore had mentioned and a gray metallic structure the size of a small bus. It seemed nothing more than a crude covering, probably erected just to keep the missiles out of sight.

Even the launch rails seemed crude. She didn’t know what missiles these people had, but she couldn’t actually remember a missile old enough to need a launch ramp. She hoped they were so old that they wouldn’t operate.

She moved toward the housing, staying under cover, looking around for any signs of danger. If anyone from the cult remained alive and present they would be here, protecting these weapons, waiting to fire them.

No one shot at her and Danielle stole a glance through an open doorway that had been cut in the metallic housing. Inside, two missiles the size of truncated telephone poles sat on the launch rails. She pressed her back against the outside wall of the shelter and checked her rifle.