Journey Through the Mirrors (32 page)

“I don’t need the money,” Rigel said.

“What about the power?” Valerie asked. “I recently learned that the desire for control keeps people like you up at night.”

“I think this meeting is over,” Karen broke in. Her smile was gone.

Rigel motioned for her to sit back down. “I find Valerie’s forthright manner very appealing . . . and invigorating.”

“If I were you, Ms. Perrot,” Karen said, “I would be investigating whoever would benefit most from the disruption of the natural-gas supply.”

“Most likely a direct competitor,” Rigel added. “Maybe an old oil company looking to reestablish its dominance in the world. Maybe a new one with some emerging technology. . . .”

“You mean a company that might be trying to leverage its alternative energy technology with some help from Mr. Montez?” There was a tense pause. Valerie could see that her knowledge of the Tripod Group’s association with the Mexican archaeologist had surprised them. “I think a company with the ability to extract electricity out of thin air would have a strong motive to see the gas fields destroyed.”

“Our work with Mr. Montez is far from completion and even farther from commercial application,” Rigel stated. “Years, maybe even a decade.”

“Why would we destroy an important energy source that we’re not in a position to replace?” Karen asked. “That would go against every lesson of Business 101.”

“The WCF is free to investigate me, the Tripod Group, or any of my companies and foundations,” Rigel said. “I assure you that you will turn up nothing criminal. In fact, I was invited this morning to attend an emergency meeting that President Salize is holding tomorrow to discuss solutions to the energy crisis.”

Valerie heard her PCD ping. A message had arrived from Sylvia. She took a moment to read it, then turned to Chetan. “Can you bring up the BBC-SKY news feed?”

The projection of the nanite was replaced by the image of a newscaster beside a large screen showing people running down a street where buildings were shaking and collapsing.

“Fifteen earthquakes—perhaps more—struck around the world nineteen minutes ago,” the newscaster stated. “Scientists cannot yet explain how so many temblors could occur simultaneously. Areas west of Cairo and east of Mexico City, which were both hit hard last week, have suffered again. Here in the U.K., a modest seismic event was reported near the city of Salisbury, where—” The newscaster touched his earpiece. “We can now confirm that China, India, and an archipelago in the South Pacific have also been shaken by earthquakes.” The images behind the reporter changed to depict people lined up at hospitals and medical pods. “Outside the earthquake zones, hospital administrators
and medical professionals are reporting an influx of patients complaining of excruciating headaches. Due to the volume of complaints, the Centers for Disease Control is launching an investigation into whether the headaches could be related to the earthquakes. The CDC has written off as speculation questions as to why the majority of the people seeking treatment for the headaches are pregnant women. President Salize of the NAF, who will be addressing the nation about the energy crisis two days from now, has not yet commented on the recent catastrophes or concerns that another Great Disruption is upon us. Government offices and news organizations, including this one, have been receiving a high volume of calls from citizens worried that another is imminent because of—”

“Turn it off,” Valerie said. Chetan did as she ordered.

Rigel looked at Karen. “I think I’ll be going to that meeting,” he said.

Valerie remained silent, wondering about Logan and her father, who were in Mexico.

Rigel looked at Karen. “Maybe we should have gotten into the earthquake insurance business,” he said sarcastically.

Karen turned to Valerie. “It looks like your president has a great many problems to deal with. And I suspect that means that you do, too.”

35

How can anyone have power over you if they don’t understand your motivations?

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

NOVACON ISLAND, 6:06 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 23, 2070

“Aye,” said one man.

“Aye,” said another. Four more people expressed agreement.

Dario stood in the spacious conference room of the NovaCon facility. He was flanked by two men on his left and two women on his right. “Catherine, you have the final vote.”

Catherine and six others sat in high-back crimson leather chairs with polished mahogany arms and arranged in a circle. Yinsir sat to her left, and Klaus was next to him. Ilia sat across the circle from Catherine, and Rashidi stood stoically behind one of the five empty chairs. To the left of each was a small table holding a carafe of water and a glass turned upside down on a white linen cloth. A small wooden mallet also lay on each table.

“Aye,” Catherine responded.

“Then it is unanimous and confirmed,” Dario announced. “I present to all of you the newest members of Reges Hominum.” Simultaneously, the seated individuals picked up their mallets and struck the
ends of their armrests in a show of approval. Dario motioned to those standing next to him to take their seats, then made his way to the chair behind which Rashidi was standing, his metal prosthetics humming as he walked. The twelve chairs were positioned around the circumference of a ten-meter circle. The ceiling was slightly vaulted. Five illuminated orbs floated above the group, providing light. The opaque floor beneath them looked like a sheet of black ice. The shutters on the windows were closed, and two tall doors were opposite each other on two of the four walls. “Long live Reges Hominum,” Dario said, before lowering himself into his chair.

“Long live Reges Hominum!” the eleven others repeated.

“As all of you know, the plan to replace the world’s electrical supply is under way.”

“I still do not understand what you are proposing to replace it with,” said one of the newly appointed members, an elegantly dressed woman with shoulder-length curly brown hair. While there was not a line on her face, her eyes lacked the sparkle of youth. “Catherine graciously articulated what we were doing but did not detail
how
we were doing it.”

“Yes, Madame Sinclair,” Dario said, “it is time to unveil the NovaCon device to all of you before we unveil it to the world.” He pressed a button on the control panel attached to his chair. The shutters retracted from the windows, revealing a view of the island. The shiny dark floor beneath their feet turned translucent, causing everyone a moment of trepidation as they observed what appeared to be volcanic lava flowing well beneath them. “I had the same reaction when I first saw it. But fear not,” Dario reassured them. “We are safe. This floor is made of a one-meter-thick specialized heat-reflective polymer.” He stomped his foot on the floor, his metal prosthetics humming loudly as he did so. “It will protect us from the thousand-degree lava that is flowing below us.”

“This is the project that Dario and I have been funding for the last six years,” Catherine said. “This is the next step in energy exploration.”

“The pyramid you saw as you entered NovaCon headquarters is more than an architectural marvel of someone’s fancy,” Dario explained.
“It is an energy device. If you look down, you can see the nuclear core and, below that, the flowing lava of Ponta do Pico.”

“This device will allow us to harness all the electricity that the world could ever consume,” Catherine said. “When fully functional, this will be the world’s first zero-point fracturing node.”

“Zero-point what?” asked a man with a deep Southern drawl. He moved forward in his chair, adjusting his large golden belt buckle and running his fingers along his bushy horseshoe mustache.

“They are talking about free energy, Mr. Harlen,” Madame Sinclair said. “Scientists have been chasing that myth since before the Great Disruption. I know about it firsthand. My family spent a king’s ransom when a man once told us he could somehow extract energy directly out of the air. My father was a fool to have listened to him.”

“It is not a myth,” Catherine said. “What you see around you is working. The power to run this island is coming from the device itself. There are no power lines running from either Spain or Portugal, I can assure you.”

“The president of the NAF has called an emergency meeting to discuss the energy crisis,” Dario said. “Catherine will be leaving here shortly for Washington to attend Enrique’s meeting. She will unveil our energy device and announce that NovaCon is prepared to fill the energy shortfall.”

Yinsir chimed in. “Are you sure that is wise? Based on what I witnessed earlier, this energy device is not entirely ready.”

Everyone looked to Dario for a response. “We have made contact with the individual who can sort out a few issues,” he said. “Rashidi here will be accompanying Catherine to ensure cooperation.”

“For our plan to work,” Catherine said, “we will need certain types of assistance from our members.”

“What kind of assistance?” Mr. Harlen asked.

“From you, Mr. Harlen,” Dario said, “we require your vast land holdings. You see, we plan to build a great many more of these pyramids around the world.”

“Will we then need to call you Pharaoh Dario the Second?” Klaus asked. The others in the group laughed, including Dario.

“I might have to build a much grander pyramid to bury myself in,” Dario joked.

Just then, the door to the conference room opened, and two men entered, walking quickly to the center of the room. One of them had a hideously scarred face.

“Yes, Dario, I would love to see you buried in a pyramid,” the man with the scarred face said, as he stood in front of Dario.

The other intruder eyed the group for anyone who posed a threat. He held a large silver gun in his right hand.

Dario tried to rise to his feet, but Rashidi, who was standing behind him, pushed him back into the chair. The man with the scarred face leaned down and looked coldly into Dario’s eyes.

“Simon! You’re supposed to be dead,” Dario whispered. “How did you find this place? How did you get in?”

Simon pulled back his shirt sleeve to reveal a thin gold bracelet, then shook his head. “You really should be more careful about whom you hire,” he said, glancing up at Rashidi.

Dario looked over at Yinsir, who sat with a blank, cold look on his face, unlike the others, who appeared surprised by what was taking place. Yinsir was the one who had recommended Rashidi to him.

“I was told you were dead,” Dario repeated, realizing the extent of Yinsir’s betrayal. “I only meant to keep moving the group along.”

“Without me, you mean,” Simon said, “If you were going to move on, you should have done so with another group of people.”

“Another group?” Dario looked around the room. The others were all still and silent.

Simon straightened. “You’re in my seat.”

Rashidi took a large knife from his pocket and, in one swift motion, ran it across Dario’s throat. The blood flowed, and Rashidi pushed Dario forward off the chair. His body struck the floor with a thud. The glow of the lava coming through the translucent floor eerily
illuminated Dario’s pooling blood. Simon stepped over his corpse and sat in his chair. He looked around at the faces of the members of Reges Hominum.

“I feel as if another vote is in order,” Simon said. “I nominate myself as head of the order. What do you think, Catherine? I am told you were Dario’s biggest supporter.”

Kashta moved to stand behind Catherine’s chair.

She took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s too risky to bet against someone who somehow defies death,” Catherine said, and then added, “I’d like to be the first to welcome you back, Simon.”

Simon nodded and smiled and then looked at the others. “Don’t worry, almost everything that Dario has told you is true,” he said coldly. “Everything, that is, except the part about me being dead.”

36

Love is not a process.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

PEEL CASTLE, 10:10 A.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 24, 2070

Bukya led the way through the unusually quiet corridors of Peel Castle. With his paw, he pushed open the door to a bedroom in the west wing.

“Bukya’s back!” Halima exclaimed.

The dog quickly trotted over to the four-poster bed positioned between a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. He placed his front paws on the edge of the mattress and gave Anita a loving but slobbery kiss. Halima, who was also lying on the bed, near Anita’s feet, moved closer to Bukya and rubbed his ears. Anita’s friend Britney, who was helping Anita deal with the lingering effects of a terrible headache, sat in a chair next to the bed. Lawrence, who was also seated nearby, set down the book he was reading and looked at the doorway. He knew that Bukya did not travel alone.

The door to the bedroom opened wider. “We were wondering where the denizens of Peel Castle had gone to,” Sebastian said in his typically calm, comforting voice. Halima leaped from the bed and rushed over to greet him. “It would seem that Bukya has unraveled that mystery.”
Sebastian squatted down and gave Halima a hug. Anita was sitting up, holding a cup of steaming rose-colored liquid in her hand. She was wearing a red sweatshirt adorned with the emblem of the Isle of Man University. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a blanket covered her legs. “I see that Sara has brewed you one of her famous elixirs.”

“It seems to be working,” Anita said. “I’m feeling much better.”

“She got a terrible headache yesterday when she was playing Devavani,” Halima said, pointing at Anita’s violin case, which lay on a table in the sitting area of the bedroom. “She went out of tune again.”

Anita took a sip from her cup. “It was more intense than the last time.”

“I was concerned,” Lawrence said. “So I called Dr. Henry. By the time he got here, Anita’s headache had abated, and he couldn’t find anything wrong. Nonetheless, based on the severity of the pain, he prescribed a couple of days of bed rest.”

“Halima told me that before you left, you mentioned that the voice of the earth had been disrupted,” Anita said. “Did that happen again?”