Authors: Leonard Rosen
All Cry Chaos (41 page)
As planned. Rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had pinched him, he said: "I only just determined that I had to come. I'm still on the Fenster case . . . and have reason to believe the Soldiers of Rapture who were involved in that bombing will be in Dam Square today."
"The bombers—
here
?" The alarm was real. "At all costs we're working to avoid violence. Who can understand these people? According to their own logic, there should be no trouble today of all days."
here
?" The alarm was real. "At all costs we're working to avoid violence. Who can understand these people? According to their own logic, there should be no trouble today of all days."
"Well, then," he said. "It would seem we're partners once more."
That Poincaré was using her distressed him. But the morning was all about crossing inviolable lines, and this one in the scheme of things was minor. He followed her into the command center and spun a fiction about losing his credentials, ending with details of the supposed threat. She issued a badge that he clipped to his jacket. "My people will leave you alone," she said. "Good luck."
Why not
, he thought. F
or once.
Already, vendors selling breakfast fare were hard at work, and the smell of fried dough and sausages was pleasant on this fine morning in high summer. The pilgrims who had camped in the square were soon packed and tending to the serious business of Rapture. Some had set up portable baptismal fonts—kiddie wading pools filled with water from public spigots. Many were dressed in tailored white robes, some in improvised bed sheets. One man called to Poincaré: "Brother! Come for holy water and a chance at Eternity!" One splash would cost five euros. In front of the De Bijenkorf department store, a competing Baptist was selling salvation at twice the cost, claiming her water came from Lourdes. A girls' chorus sang hymns before the Royal Palace. The bells of the cathedral rang. He saw jugglers and street musicians and vendors selling shades to protect people's eyes from the Lord's fiery descent. Poincaré declined invitations to have his portrait painted alongside a radiant likeness of Christ. Only ten euros. Like anxious tourists searching for a lost watch, some Rapturians walked the square on their knees in a final show of humility.
Come one, come all
, thought Poincaré: the penitent and the huckster, the policeman and the pickpocket—and, in time, the financier and the killer. The sun around which this chaos lurched was an enormous digital clock counting down the minutes and seconds to Redemption: 5:12:13. 5:12:12. 5:12:11.
"Hallelujah! Hallelujah Halleluuuujah!" a man in a business suit shouted. Poincaré declined his offer to clasp hands and wait for Glory. Having made several tours of the square, he walked to the northwest corner, where he would meet Quito and Bell. Snaring them had been easy. Poincaré contacted Eric Hurley in Cambridge and asked that he call Charles Bell with a proposition. Given that public servants in the city were underpaid and that he, Hurley, was set to retire on a less than adequate pension, funds contributed to a policeman's benevolent association might go a long way to securing a certain hard drive. Hurley wired himself for the occasion. When a large sum was transferred to the charity in question, he arranged a second meeting and passed Bell a note: D
am Square, August 15
th
,
11:00
AM
.
Corner of Royal Palace and Nieuwe Kerk
. As for Quito, Dana Chambi merely sent an e-mail in which she expressed exhaustion and regret:
I can't run anymore. I have what you need. You were
right. Our cause means everything. S
ame date, same place. 11:30.
am Square, August 15
th
,
11:00
AM
.
Corner of Royal Palace and Nieuwe Kerk
. As for Quito, Dana Chambi merely sent an e-mail in which she expressed exhaustion and regret:
I can't run anymore. I have what you need. You were
right. Our cause means everything. S
ame date, same place. 11:30.
According to close readings of Scripture, the Rapture would occur at 11:38, local time, around the world. That is, it was to be a rolling Rapture that would not inconvenience people in Los Angeles by asking them to stay awake until 2:38 on the morning of the 15
th
. For reasons Poincaré never understood, Christ was to appear first in the Central European Time Zone, which meant that those in a band extending from Riksgransen in Swedish Lapland all the way to Lubango in southern Angola would have the honor of standing first in line for Redemption. He was not surprised to learn that travel agencies in every time zone outside CET had arranged special Rapture packages to ferry the especially fervent into what they were calling the "first tier" Rapture—on the theoretical possibility that the sky would fill and there would be no spots left at Christ's right hand. Deluxe packages included hotels, meals, linen robes, airport transfers, and bronze name-tags to be worn around the neck. Inevitably, protesters gathered to advertise their causes in the event the world and its troubles survived until the 16th. Poincaré read signs denouncing the occupation of Tibet and the junta in Myanmar. Prochoice activists shouting slogans competed with soapbox prophets decrying everything from the diminished nutrient value of irradiated foods to the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. A child tethered to her mother wore a sign that read: "God doesn't fix the World. We do!"
th
. For reasons Poincaré never understood, Christ was to appear first in the Central European Time Zone, which meant that those in a band extending from Riksgransen in Swedish Lapland all the way to Lubango in southern Angola would have the honor of standing first in line for Redemption. He was not surprised to learn that travel agencies in every time zone outside CET had arranged special Rapture packages to ferry the especially fervent into what they were calling the "first tier" Rapture—on the theoretical possibility that the sky would fill and there would be no spots left at Christ's right hand. Deluxe packages included hotels, meals, linen robes, airport transfers, and bronze name-tags to be worn around the neck. Inevitably, protesters gathered to advertise their causes in the event the world and its troubles survived until the 16th. Poincaré read signs denouncing the occupation of Tibet and the junta in Myanmar. Prochoice activists shouting slogans competed with soapbox prophets decrying everything from the diminished nutrient value of irradiated foods to the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. A child tethered to her mother wore a sign that read: "God doesn't fix the World. We do!"
The media caught it all: the penitents, the vendors selling Stroopwafels and herring, the orderly queues at the portable toilets, the singers and the dance troupes, the baptismal pools. Major networks sent reporters and cameramen into the crush, their images projected onto large screens above the platforms that rimmed the square. Several of the faithful who granted interviews showed off what they called "bloodied knees for Christ" and declared how good it would be to meet their Maker. On the news platforms, anchors carefully balanced the opinions of fundamentalists who took time out of their preparations for Rapture with the views of secular experts who tried, as one put it, "to situate this hysteria in its proper historical context." In a word, Dam Square was the circus Poincaré hoped it would be.
At 10:38, the Countdown Clock at 01:00:00, a robed woman climbed the largest of the platforms and stood at a lectern flanked by enormous speakers, below the De Bijenkorf sign. "Sisters and Brothers in Christ," she began, her voice silencing all competitors. "Let us be comforted in this hour by the words of Paul to the Corinthians:
Behold, I tell you a mystery: We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed—in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.
Thousands turned as if obeying a summons. The woman's voice had the quality of one's earliest church service, when what flowed from the pulpit to young ears was the voice of Heaven itself. She worked the scale of human possibility, and one hardly needed to understand the words to know that Doom and Salvation hung in the balance. Up until this point, the mood had been festive. When she began, however, Poincaré felt a change as if, in unison, the multitude recalled the seriousness of the moment. Believers bowed their heads. The equivocal, hedging bets, maintained a respectful silence. Even those determined to sneer and watch the supposed end of the world come and go looked on with something approaching dread. For if the woman's call to Rapture were true, where, exactly, would they and all their cynicism be then?
The speaker moved on to Acts 2:38: "Peter said to them 'Repent, and let every one of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.' "
Chambi arrived on schedule. She turned a corner at Mozes en Aaronstraat and met Poincaré by the Royal Palace, beside the cathedral.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"For Charles, yes. He's a bully and he's greedy. But he's no Eduardo. I don't think he'd actually hurt anyone—even though he makes so much noise."
A man holding a camera interrupted them. "Would you mind? My wife and I want proof we were here when the world ended." He pointed to a shopping bag filled with hats and gloves. "Just in case we don't get called to the sky and have to deal with next winter!"
Poincaré snapped the picture. A teenager on a unicycle, juggling bowling pins, wheeled by. "All you need to do is what we rehearsed," said Poincaré. "Walk off, across the square—there." He pointed to the far side of the Royal Palace. "I'll be standing here, and Bell will approach. When you see us talking, cross the square and stand at my side. He will be surprised. I will say something to him in your presence. If he responds as I expect, you'll never hear from Charles Bell again. Then it will be Quito's turn. He'll find you, where I'm standing now. Then I'll join you, and you will walk away. I'll handle the rest."
"What do you mean
handle the rest
?"
handle the rest
?"
"The problem will go away, Ms. Chambi."
"How?"
"Trust me."
"I do, but I'm scared."
"Good. People without fear tend to die, and I don't expect to die today. I'm quite sure you won't."
"You mean you're scared, too?"
"Let's say that I'm alert, Ms. Chambi."
"But Quito. He's—"
"I know
exactly
what Quito is. You'll do what we rehearsed. I'll take care of him. Now get to your position." Poincaré checked his watch. "We've got a few minutes. Why don't you try one of those Stroopwafels. They're very good."
exactly
what Quito is. You'll do what we rehearsed. I'll take care of him. Now get to your position." Poincaré checked his watch. "We've got a few minutes. Why don't you try one of those Stroopwafels. They're very good."
"But my stomach—" She started off to find a vendor then paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Are you baptized, Inspector?" A clown with orange hair and a red putty nose walked by, banging a drum and singing
The Lord's day, the Lord's day, elders weep while
children play
. Poincaré smelled madness in the air, desperation posing as devotion. From the platform, the woman's voice rose: I
f you abide
in Me, and My words abide in you. . . .
The Lord's day, the Lord's day, elders weep while
children play
. Poincaré smelled madness in the air, desperation posing as devotion. From the platform, the woman's voice rose: I
f you abide
in Me, and My words abide in you. . . .
He smiled, shaking his head. "My wife's been trying for decades."
"I think I'll buy some holy water from that man over there," she said. "A little sprinkle couldn't hurt."
"I thought you were a scientist," he laughed.
"I'm a good Catholic
and
a good scientist, Inspector. I never understood why people call it a contradiction. The water's for you!" She adjusted her scarf. "Did I dress properly for the end of the world?"
and
a good scientist, Inspector. I never understood why people call it a contradiction. The water's for you!" She adjusted her scarf. "Did I dress properly for the end of the world?"
CHAPTER 43
Poincaré knew that whatever was about to come, despite his careful planning, would unfold according to its own logic, not his. This did not keep him from shifting his left foot to verify, for a third time, that he stood directly on an
X
taped to a cobblestone earlier that morning in the presence of Paolo Ludovici. "Do you see me?" he whispered.
X
taped to a cobblestone earlier that morning in the presence of Paolo Ludovici. "Do you see me?" he whispered.
He looked to the east end of the square, past the Dutch National Monument to the top floor of the Hotel Krasnapolsky, where the sun glinted off an open window. Ludovici was in place. "You're directly on spot, Henri. I can count the number of whiskers you missed shaving this morning." The voice came through a tiny earpiece. "Shall I shoot them off for you?"
"Maybe next time, Paolo."
"Gisele looks to be running a good operation, don't you think? I've been watching through the scope."
"She knows you're up there. It's all fine."
Charles Bell was late. Poincaré looked about the square for him and noted that the security presence, both uniformed and plainclothes, was substantial—though not so strong, he supposed, to prevent him from executing Eduardo Quito. To do that, someone would have to be monitoring him at every moment through a scope—someone like Ludovici. He recalled Felix Robinson's warning. P
aolo
? he wondered.
Not possible
. But, in fact, it
was
possible that Robinson had ordered Ludovici to shadow Poincaré and prevent whatever he was about to do in the name of vigilante justice. But not Paolo. He had agreed to this last favor—just his sort of favor, working outside the rules. Still, the square was teeming with security any one of whom, seen or not, could be monitoring Poincaré. A complication, then. He had not planned for it, but there was nothing to be done. He felt Ludovici's scope on him.
aolo
? he wondered.
Not possible
. But, in fact, it
was
possible that Robinson had ordered Ludovici to shadow Poincaré and prevent whatever he was about to do in the name of vigilante justice. But not Paolo. He had agreed to this last favor—just his sort of favor, working outside the rules. Still, the square was teeming with security any one of whom, seen or not, could be monitoring Poincaré. A complication, then. He had not planned for it, but there was nothing to be done. He felt Ludovici's scope on him.
Charles Bell arrived with 00:18:14 showing on the clock. "I should have figured you for a dirty cop," he said, entering the square through the Eggertstraat checkpoint. "Fine French accent, same old shit. I paid my money, now give me the hard drive."
"You look tired," said Poincaré.
"Go to hell."
Poincaré checked the clock. "You know, before the hour is out I actually may. You were right to be worried, Charles—about losing your advantage if a competitor got hold of Fenster's work." Poincaré carried no briefcase and showed no obvious bulge in his jacket. No envelope for Bell. "Just so you know, the hard drive is in the state's evidence locker in Massachusetts. Hurley set you up, I'm afraid. I believe you Americans call this a sting."
"You sonuvabitch. I paid a quarter-million—"
Bell stepped closer, and Poincaré held up his hand.
"Don't." By this point Chambi should have been at his side. Poincaré did not risk turning away from Bell, and Bell showed no sign of recognizing anyone in the square behind him. "Two hundred meters away, in that building over there—you can see the open window—I have a friend with a rifle and a scope. He will put a bullet behind your ear if you touch me."
Where's Chambi?
"I don't have to touch you," Bell snarled. "But someone else may. The world can be a dangerous place for people like you and that fat-assed Hurley."
"No, you won't hire anyone either," said Poincaré, reaching into his jacket and producing a digital recorder. "Technology is a wonderful thing, Charles. The deal you made with Hurley is captured on videotape. Here's the audio portion." Poincaré clicked a button.
You're telling me that if I pay the money, you can get the
hard drive?
That's right. But you wouldn't be paying me, Mr. Bell. We'll
be less direct than that. The money would go to the Police Benev
olent Association of Massachusetts. That way it's philanthropy,
not a bribe."
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