Zig Zag (39 page)

"Eagle
Group," Elisa said.

"Yes.
Eagle Group. But they're just the tip of the iceberg. Who's really
behind all this? Have you ever wondered? I'll tell you: the
government. And behind them? Big business. The Impact is just an
excuse. The thing Eagle Group really wants to hide at all costs is
the military interest in the project."

"What?"

"Think
about it, Elisa. Do you really think all the financial backing for
Zig Zag stems from their passion for Troy, or ancient Egypt, or the
life of Christ? Don't be naive. When Sergio and I showed them the
Unbroken Glass, lightbulbs started flashing in their heads. 'How can
we use this against the enemy?' was the first thing that popped into
their little brains. 'And how can we keep the enemy from using it
against us?' was the second. As far as Jesus, the pharaohs, and the
emperors go, well, they're interesting, but not a decisive part of
the final equation." Elisa blinked. This had never occurred to
her before. She couldn't even see how the ability to see the remote
past could be of use to the military. But Blanes began ticking off
the ways on the fingers of his right hand, as if he could read her
thoughts. "Espionage. Space imaging that shows not only what's
happening now but what happened ten months or ten years ago, when the
enemy had yet to even
imagine
we
were spying. That's a good way to get information on terrorist
training camps, which are always dissolving, always on the move. Here
one day, gone the next, without a trace. Or assassination attempt
investigations. Doesn't matter that the bomb already exploded: film
the area and figure out what happened on the days leading up to it,
the exact methods used..."

"My
God..."

"Indeed.
My God." Blanes's mouth twisted. "The eye of God is
watching all of it. Time, the original Big Brother. Then there's
industrial espionage, political espionage, searching for proof of
this or that scandal so they can oust this or that president. It's a
race against time between Europe, which is financing the project, and
the United States, which must already have its own personal Project
Zig Zag on some island in the Pacific right now. We've proven that
with a simple video camera you can see everything that happened,
anytime, anyplace in the world. Zig Zag has stripped humanity naked,
and the military wants to be the first Peeping Tom. And you know
what? There's only one tiny yet bothersome thing stopping them."
He pointed to his chest. "Me."

Elisa
didn't think it was conceit talking. He really didn't seem to want
the role at all. And what he said next confirmed that.

"To
paraphrase an old bolero, 'I'm just a little thorn in their side,'"
he warbled. "I don't like being a pain in the neck, honestly.
The reason I left the States was because they were putting more money
into arms than accelerators, and I'll leave Europe if Zig Zag gets
used for military purposes, but I'm also aware of the fact that the
reason I'm here is because they're paying me. I want to deliver, I
want to give them what they've asked for. I really do. But I
refuse
to
experiment with the recent past." His voice suddenly became
edgy. "I told them there were risks and there are, Elisa... lots
of them. Believe me. But that's a matter of personal opinion. Sergio,
for example, is more daring, even though in the end he agreed with
me. That's why they want us to carry on with our little games, to see
if we can come up with something less risky they can use."

"They
didn't tell me anything about all this when they hired me,"
Elisa said, taken aback.

"Of
course not. You think they told me everything? Ever since September
11, the world stopped being divided into truth and lies. Now all we
have are lies. The rest, we'll never know."

They
were both silent. Blanes stared at a spot on the floor. Somewhere in
the distance, the rain fell in sheets.

"You
know what the worst thing is?" he asked suddenly. "If I'd
refused, if I'd listened to Grossmann and abandoned the whole thing,
we would never have seen a Jurassic forest, or the dinosaur's
feelers, or a woman walking down a street in Jerusalem during the
time of Christ. None of that excuses my actions, but it does explain
them. It's like having the best present in the world and not being
able to share it with anyone. So. If they award me the Nobel, you can
have it, OK? You want it?" He pointed at her.

"I
don't think so." Elisa scooted off the table and pulled down her
cropped T-shirt to cover her midriff, smiling. "You can keep
it."

"Hey!
As my disciple, part of your job is to take all the things I turn
down. What else do you suggest? Throwing it in the trash?"

"Give
it to Ric Valente. I'm sure he'd be thrilled." They laughed.

"Ric
Valente," Blanes said slowly. "One strange kid. An
extraordinary student, but too ambitious ... I tried to get to know
him at Alighieri, and I realized I didn't like him. If it were up to
me, he wouldn't be here, but Sergio and Colin think he walks on
water."

Elisa
stared at him for a minute. Then, before leaving, she said, simply,
"Thanks."

Blanes
looked up.

"What
for?"

"For
sharing your gift with me."

As
she walked back down the hall replaying fragments of the conversation
in her head, she sensed that the rain had intensified. It must have
been the buildup to the typhoon. But she wasn't worried about the
approaching storm. Carter had assured them that it presented no
danger, and they'd already taken "the necessary precautions."

And
he was right. The typhoon would prove to be the least dangerous thing
of all.

THAT
downpour
made any outdoor activity impossible and forced the scientists to
their bedrooms, trapping them in a gloomy, gray lethargy. Elisa and
her colleagues were harder hit by that apathy since it was now
Clissot, Silberg, Nadja, and Rosalyn who had things to do, while the
physicists sat back, idly. She often met up with Clissot and Nadja in
the lab after breakfast to pass the time and watch them study the
image of the Lake of Sun (as they'd baptized it, rejecting Marini's
chosen name: Lake of the Carnivorous Chickens) inch by inch. At first
she was enthralled, but slowly the paleontologists' meticulous work
began to bore her. "Examine A's first extremity, Nadja. Now
compare that to B's homolateral. A has only one phalange, but B has
two." Elisa yawned.
If
anyone had told me a couple days ago that I would get bored of this,
I'd have laughed. Just goes to show...

Nadja
was feeling much better. She'd started sleeping better, and she was
far less anxious. Though she was going to have a psychological
checkup with Silberg the following week, nothing kept her from her
daily routine at the computer.

Every
time she saw her, Elisa thought about what Nadja had told her the day
of the screenings. It seemed so absurd, just a figment of her
imagination, but she had some doubts. Could there actually be someone
else on the island they didn't know about? Why not? She'd been there
two and a half months, and although she thought she knew each and
every inhabitant, including the soldiers, choppers came and went with
supplies all the time. Surely it was possible that a new soldier had
come to replace someone and was staying with the rest of them in the
garrison. But if that were the case, why wouldn't he have introduced
himself? And what was he doing exploring the barracks at night, out
of uniform?
Ridiculous.
Nadja'd had a really intense nightmare. And the effects of it were
intensified by the Impact.

Still,
she couldn't get that horrible idea out of her head: a man with white
eyes, staring at her from the darkened hallway.

The
night of Saturday, October 1, after playing (and losing) several
hands of poker with Craig, Marini, and Blanes after dinner, Elisa
went back to her room. By nine o'clock, she was in bed, and the
lights went out at ten o'clock sharp.

The
typhoon seemed to be getting worse. It sounded like the beginning of
Judgment Day, like one of those Dantesque apparitions—an eagle
or a cross—was flying over them. But with all those layers of
insulation, it was easy to feel like you were in a metal bubble.
Nothing moved. Everything was still and quiet. Still, Elisa couldn't
get off to sleep.

She
pulled back the sheet and got up, deciding to go for a walk. She
could go to the kitchen and make herself a cup of tea. Then she
remembered that Carter had forbidden them to use any electric
appliances. And he was right to do so, because lightning flashed
silently, momentarily lighting up parts of her room. She still liked
the idea of going for a walk, though. The emergency lights in the
hall would do. And besides, she was sure she could walk the entire
barracks with her eyes closed.

Then
she noticed something.

She
looked toward the window when she saw it. At first, she wondered if
she was dreaming.

It
was a gap. On the upper-left-hand side of the wall, where the ceiling
met the bathroom wall. It was elliptical, and if she'd tried she
could have fit through it. The silent flashes weren't coming from the
window but from that opening.

She
was so upset at not having noticed something so obvious that she
missed another strange detail.

Silent
flashes.

Silent.

She
was surrounded by silence. Total silence. Where had the storm gone?

But
there wasn't, in fact,
total
silence.
Something behind her made a noise.

This
time they weren't footsteps echoing through the walls, but sounds
that indicated a concrete presence, very nearby. The squeak of rubber
soles, someone's breath. Someone in her room,
inside
her
room, with her.

Her
skin felt like it was being peeled off. It was as though each pore
was an iron filing and she stood beside a powerful electromagnet that
pulled each and every one, from the nape of her neck right down to
the soles of her feet. It took her an eternity to turn around and
look behind her. And when she finally managed to, she saw a figure.

It
stood stock-still by the door, a little farther than she'd guessed by
the sound of its breathing. The flashes partially revealed tennis
shoes, Bermudas, and a T-shirt. But its face was enveloped by shadow.

A
man.

For
a second, she thought her heart was going to explode from sheer
terror. Then she recognized him and almost laughed.

"Ric
... What are you doing here? You scared the daylights out of me..."

The
figure made no reply. Instead, he advanced toward her, slowly,
lightly, like clouds covering the moon.

She
had no doubt it was Valente. The build, the clothes. Well, she was
almost
sure.
But if it was him, what did he think he was doing? Why didn't he say
anything?

"Ric?"
She never thought that one little word could be so hard to get out.
Her throat constricted as she said it. "It
is
you,
Ric, right?"