Journey Through the Mirrors (35 page)

“Nor do they line up with the times the gas wells collapsed,” Chetan added.

“Must be some kind of glitch in the readings,” Sylvia said, about to resume the search for the 79.654-hertz signal.

“Wait,” Darvis said. “The Schumann spike may not line up with your gas well problems, but they do line up with the last round of earthquakes.”

“What does that mean?” Valerie asked.

“Could you expand the view for the Schumann reading?” Darvis requested. “Make it for four days ago, when we first started to see an unusual amount of seismic activity . . . There, look at that. Every spike in the resonance correlates to when we detected seismic activity.”

“Since when does the Schumann resonance have anything to do with earthquakes?” Sylvia asked, looking at Darvis.

“I have no idea,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Logan pointed at the globe, which had stopped with the Atlantic Ocean in view. “Look at the Azores. Why are there so many orange markers there? Does it have something to do with the volcanic activities you mentioned?”

“No,” Chetan said. “While the Azores do have a great deal of earthquakes
due to the volcano in the area, those ELF markers shouldn’t be there.”

“I think you guys might have found a good place to start your analysis,” Valerie suggested. “You may want to stay with them, Darvis. Looks like the earthquakes might be related to all this.”

“Where are you two going?” Sylvia asked.

“We are heading to the Council of Satraya commemoration,” Valerie said, a smile coming to her face. “My father has a big night ahead of him.”

38

The limits of perception are just that, limits.

Push through them, and discover that they are illusions.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

WASHINGTON D.C., 12:20 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 24, 2070

“We would like to see a patient by the name of Sumsari Baltik,” Valerie said to the elderly woman sitting at the reception desk at the Calhoun Medical Center. “I think the spelling of his last name is—”

“B-a-l-t-i-k,” the receptionist cut in. “He’s suddenly a popular man. Are all four of you here to see him? Because we only allow two visitors at a time.”

Valerie pulled out her WCF badge. “Official business,” she said.

“Did you say he was a popular man?” Mr. Perrot asked.

“Until two days ago, he hadn’t had a single visitor in the nine months he’s been here,” the receptionist replied. “Then someone came to see him a day or two ago, and now the four of you.” She turned to her communications pad and spoke into her headset, then handed them four visitor badges. “Dr. Bradley is coming to speak with you,” she said.

“May I ask who else has visited Mr. Baltik?” Valerie said as she clipped the badge to the pocket on her suit jacket.

“I’m sorry, we aren’t allowed to give out that information. Privacy
laws. But seeing as this is official WCF business, you might try Dr. Bradley.”

The doors behind the receptionist opened, and a man in scrubs approached them. “Good afternoon, I’m Walter Bradley, one of the center’s senior physicians. I understand you wish to see Mr. Baltik?”

“That’s correct,” Valerie said, shaking his hand. “I’m Valerie Perrot, a senior agent of the World Crime Federation.”

The doctor eyed Valerie’s badge. “Follow me,” he said, without hesitation.

They followed the doctor through a set of heavily fortified doors and down a long hallway to the main ward, where orderlies and nurses were manning the monitoring stations and three corridors branched to the sides. Logan could see patients in green gowns and slippers pacing up and down, others simply standing in the doorways of their rooms. All of them had pale, expressionless faces. A red light started flashing above a set of open metal doors at the end of one of the hallways. Two orderlies and a nurse quickly rose from their seats and darted down the hallway.

“Please wait here,” the doctor said. “I will log you in.”

“Do you think all these people were affected by the frequency pulse?” Logan asked, when the doctor walked off.

“Probably,” Valerie whispered in answer. “I know the victims were rounded up and brought here first for further examination.”

“They don’t appear to be doing very well,” Mr. Perrot said.

Madu looked at them both quizzically. “A frequency pulse?”

Logan didn’t have a chance to explain; he was bumped from behind by someone tugging at his backpack. “Are you Benjamin?” Logan turned and saw that it was a young woman. “Are you Benjamin?” she asked again, more loudly.

“No, I’m Logan,” he said gently, tightening his hold on his backpack. “What is your name?”

“Are you Benjamin!” the woman yelled, pulling harder and drawing the attention of the staff.

The doctor motioned to two orderlies, who rushed over and grabbed the woman by her arms. She struggled to free herself, blurting out nonsensical words and phrases, but they were finally able to take her away.

“Sorry about that,” the doctor said.

“It’s OK,” Logan said. “I understand these are the people who were exposed to the frequency pulse last Freedom Day and experienced alterations in their DNA?”

The doctor looked at him hesitantly, without answering.

“It’s all right, Doctor,” Valerie said. “We’re well aware of what took place at Compass Park on Freedom Day, even though the administration chose not to release the whole story to the public. It was my team, along with Logan and my father, who worked that case.”

“So you’re the ones,” the doctor said softly. “They left all the names out of the reports that we received.”

Valerie nodded. “Are you going to be able to help them? I had hopes an antidote would be created using the green pills we discovered at the hidden laboratory in North Carolina.”

“It has been very tough,” the doctor said. “As far as we can tell, the DNA alteration these people experienced is a one-way science.”

“What about the rest of the population?” Logan asked. “Almost everyone in the world is still carrying those DNA collars.”

“We’re still working on that,” the doctor said. “We’ve enlisted the help of other medical facilities around the world.”

Logan and Valerie exchanged dissatisfied glances. The doctor could only avert his eyes, as he continued leading them down one of the three hallways.

“Were you here when Mr. Baltik had a visitor a day or two ago?” Valerie asked.

They stopped in front of a door marked
169
. The doctor nodded. “His nephew came to see him two days ago. He brought his service dog, which Mr. Baltik seemed to enjoy as much as the piano we gave him when he first arrived. Music is the only thing that seems to calm
him. I have to warn you, on that note, Mr. Baltik does not communicate very coherently.”

The doctor turned and placed his right hand on a security pad. The door to room 169 opened, and he entered, followed by Valerie.

“Mr. Baltik?” the doctor said as he looked around the empty room. He checked the bathroom and then opened the closet door.

“Is there a problem?” Valerie asked, already knowing the answer.

“He’s supposed to be here,” the doctor said, his worry clear. “Please remain here while I find out where Mr. Baltik is.”

The doctor left the room, giving the others room to enter. Logan’s attention was instantly drawn to something on the wall above a vintage piano. It was a hand-drawn copy of
The Scream
by Edvard Munch.

Scattered on the floor were writing markers and their caps. The walls were covered with hand-drawn musical notes and some kind of mathematical formula, which was repeated over and over again. “Robert,” Madu said, examining the scribbling. “This is the same note sequence that Sumsari spoke to me about more than forty years ago.” He walked over to the piano, lightly touching the keys. “It went something like this . . .”

Logan recognized the melody instantly. “That’s the Solokan progression,” he said.

Madu looked at him. “How did you know that?”

“That’s what Sumsari called it in one of my mother’s recordings. There was another sequence, too.”

“The Coffa progression,” Madu said, and Logan nodded.

Dr. Bradley looked perturbed. He was followed by an orderly carrying an electronic clipboard. “It looks like Mr. Baltik has been transferred to our sister facility in Tennessee,” he said.

“Transferred?” asked Valerie. “What do you mean, transferred? When?”

“This morning,” the orderly replied, inspecting the display on his clipboard. “We received the transfer order at nine this morning, and a
gentleman arrived at nine thirty to escort him. We didn’t think much about it; transfers happen quite often.”

The doctor still looked worried.

“What is it?” Logan asked.

“When we contacted the facility a few moments ago, we learned that Mr. Baltik still hadn’t arrived there,” the doctor said.

“Who authorized the transfer?” Valerie asked.

Dr. Bradley looked at the electronic clipboard. “A Dr. Kline,” he said, staring at the name. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“What about the person who took him? Have you tried to contact him?”

“I’d never seen him before,” the orderly answered. “But he could have been a new guy.”

“Why would someone take Mr. Baltik out of the Calhoun Center?” Logan asked.

“Probably for the same reason we wanted to speak to him,” Madu suggested. “Might I ask if Mr. Baltik ever discussed what he was writing on the walls?”

“He started doing that a few days ago,” the orderly said, “when he started complaining about severe headaches. He also did that drawing and hung it up there at about the same time.”

“All right, Doctor, all privacy issues are out the door now,” Valerie said seriously. “We need the name of the man who came to see Mr. Baltik a few days ago.”

“Mr. Quinn. I think his first name was Sebastian,” the doctor answered, and the others exchanged glances. “Yes, I remember him because of his service dog. Mr. Baltik really seemed to connect with the dog.” The doctor pointed to the top of the piano. “And those,” he said, “those are the military service tags he returned to Mr. Baltik.”

39

One thing impossible in the Kingdom of Heaven is to be abandoned. Someone will always be with you.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

GORNERGRAT, SWITZERLAND, 7:11 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 24, 2070

There was only one way to get to Gornergrat, and that was by railway. The once-popular Kulm Hotel, built in 1897, still stood on the ridge in the Pennine Alps at an altitude of 3,120 meters, overlooking the Gorner Glacier. A high-altitude research station and astronomical observatories had been located in the north and south cupolas of the building. During the Great Disruption of 2027, the open-air railway leading to the majestic hotel had been destroyed. Gornergrat had become inaccessible, and the hotel had been abandoned. During the Rising, in 2056, a prominent Japanese family had purchased the defunct hotel and converted it into a private retreat. The magnificent views of the mountain peaks of Dom, Weisshorn, Mont Rosa, Lyskamm, and the Matterhorn were no longer viewed by hordes of visitors. Only one person had that privilege now.

“This is your new PCD and ID glass,” Kashta said. “As you requested, the world will now know you as Adrian Finch. Simon Hitchlords will remain dead to the world.”

“For now,” Simon said, taking the thin Plexiglas card from Kashta and looking at it. He grimaced at his ID photo, which depicted him as he currently appeared, his face disfigured by burn scars. Simon was sitting behind a large Victorian twin pedestal desk. In front of him was the silver case that Kashta had retrieved from the Château. He looked up at Kashta. “Are you satisfied that your men searched the art studio adequately?”

“Yes, the books were not there,” Kashta replied. “I suspect that Logan Ford is keeping them at his home. He was not at the studio, either.”

“Catherine has informed me he and his children will be at the Council of Satraya offices this evening, attending a commemoration in honor of the original members of the Council.”

“Shouldn’t you be attending, then?” Kashta asked. “You, too, were an original member.”

Simon laughed. “I’m not sure how welcome I would be.”

Kashta shrugged. “I will have our men search the house tonight. If the books are there, we will find them.”

Simon nodded, gazing at Kashta intently. “You will find them indeed. At any cost.”

There was silence as Simon gestured for Kashta to leave. “Remember, the new staff will arrive tomorrow. As you instructed, none of them worked at the Château.” Kashta walked out of the room.

Simon leaned forward and pulled the silver box closer to him. He typed an access code into the keypad on the box, and the lid opened. It had been a long while since he had seen his prized possessions. He carefully removed the three original copies of
The Chronicles of Satraya
and set them on the desk. Then he removed a blue journal. The bloody handprints on its cover reminded him of how the journal had come into his possession. Simon paged through Camden Ford’s notes and paused when his attention was drawn to a short paragraph that Camden had written on June 23, 2036.

I still wonder about the blue orb I encountered in the woods and the enigmatic light it gave off. I wonder what it was, maybe even who it was. Deya has been very open about her healing experience; Madu is more reserved about sharing his. I think about the man named Giovanni Rast and the gold coins the orb gave him before Fendral killed him and stole his copy of the
Chronicles
. I remember Marilyn and others saying that a strange blue light had come from the abandoned train car Giovanni called home. When they queried Giovanni about it, he could only say it had magically appeared from the books. I wonder if any of us will ever see the orb again.

Maybe I can find the secret to the orb in the Satraya Flame or one of these hidden symbols. I am certain now that the partial symbol on the last page is meant to be fragmented. After three and a half years of effort, I still don’t see anything when I look at the blank pages of Deya’s and Madu’s sets. I doubt that I will ever be granted access to Fendral’s books. Maybe no one person is supposed to possess all of them. I can see how that could be a terrible thing.