Montaro Caine (36 page)

But all that Hargrove was saying seemed to sound like inconsequential gibberish to Perch, who stopped for only a moment before raising his hand to silence the lawyer. “I am going to the delivery room,” he said. “I don’t think it would be wise for you to follow me there.”

Hargrove had always known that his success in corporate law was largely attributable to his ability to read both his clients and their opponents in the world of industry. But now, a warning sign rattled within him. He instantly understood that Perch might be a man he could not read.

“No,” Hargrove answered, his voice now significantly quieter and less self-assured. “You are right, of course.”

“Good,” said Perch. “You can raise whatever issues you wish upon my return.”

Upstairs, Matthew Perch entered the delivery room unseen. Whitney was pushing hard as her husband held her hand, while Anna Hilburn reached for the baby, whose head of slick black hair was now clearly visible.

“He’s crowning,” said Anna, and Whitney gave a throaty moan that seemed to make the whole room vibrate. When Whitney closed her eyes tight to fend off the pain, she saw swirling colors and shapes, a spectacular, private display. At the foot of the hospital bed stood Dr. Mozelle, who caught a glimpse of Perch—he stood there as if he had always been there, as if he had never left, as if he was standing where he had always belonged. The men shared a silent nod of recognition as Whitney gave another strong push accompanied by yet another, even louder, deeper moan.

Franklyn gently placed a cool towel on his wife’s forehead while Dr. Mozelle moved closer to his patient.

“There you are,” said Mozelle as he saw the baby’s head. “Whitney, you’re almost there.”

“Breathe, honey,” said Franklyn. He gave his wife his hand again and she squeezed it gently, then harder.

“Ready, honey?” Franklyn asked.

Whitney managed a small smile. Yes, she was ready. She gave another push.

And now, the baby slid out of her body—a slippery boy with a mass of dark curls upon his head. When Franklyn cut the umbilical cord, Whitney trembled and cried, a cry that turned into happy laughter as she watched Anna Hilburn wrap the baby in a clean white towel. Tears appeared in Franklyn’s eyes as Anna handed the baby to Franklyn, who brought the baby to his wife. Whitney grasped the bundle and clutched it to her chest.

The new parents beamed at each other, both of them crying now. They had no consciousness of Dr. Mozelle or Anna Hilburn or of Matthew Perch standing before them. They seemed to have forgotten the cameras in the room and the conference room full of people one floor below. Franklyn sat at the edge of the bed with his arm around Whitney. She rested her head on his shoulder. They both smiled at their first child, his tiny eyes closed.

Then, the baby opened his eyes. He squirmed underneath his swaddling blanket, and as he did, Whitney understood that he was trying to do something; he was trying to open his hands.

D
OWNSTAIRS IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM, THE LUNCH PLATES
had been cleared, coffee was being served, and Julius Hargrove was standing at the podium, speaking of the coins that had disappeared from Kritzman Fritzbrauner’s and Roland Gabler’s possession. Directing his remarks toward the table where Montaro Caine was seated, Hargrove said he hoped that whoever had removed the coins from the safes would now return them to their rightful owners; then a discussion could begin regarding how an agreement about shared ownership could be reached. Hargrove discussed what Caine’s diminished role might consist of in a restructured Fitzer Corporation led by Richard Davis. He emphasized the fact that, despite Montaro’s industrial and scientific expertise and his years of leading the company, Davis’s extensive experience in management and finance would be indispensable when it came to exploiting the properties of the coins. But midway through that thought, Hargrove noticed that everyone had stopped listening to him. All eyes were focused on the conference room’s revolving door.

Hargrove turned to see Howard Mozelle and Matthew Perch reentering the room. Mozelle, dressed in the suit that he had worn under his scrubs, seemed deep in thought.

“Well, Doctor?” Hargrove asked simply, “How did it go?”

Mozelle stood silent for a moment, then approached Hargrove at the podium. “Exactly as I had hoped,” he said, speaking specifically to Hargrove but loudly enough so that the people gathered at the tables could hear. “Mother and child are doing well. Anna’s taking care of them.”

Hargrove proceeded to interrogate the doctor as Matthew Perch looked on impassively. “Can you tell us if there was anything surprising or unusual about the extremities of the baby—its arms, its legs, its hands?”

“What, in your view, would be surprising or unusual?” asked Mozelle.

“An object in one of the child’s hands, for instance, perhaps a coin,” said Hargrove.

“Well,” replied Mozelle, “then I would say that there was something surprising but nothing unusual.”

“What was in the baby’s hands?” Hargrove asked.

“Nothing at all,” said Mozelle.

Murmurs of disbelief were heard throughout the conference room. Fritzbrauner and Gabler looked at each other, the former puzzled, the latter suspicious. Richard Davis loudly cleared his throat. Colette Beekman appeared to tremble. Several men at one of Hargrove’s tables stood up. Surprise registered on just about everyone’s face, save for those of Tom Lund, Luther John Doe, and Montaro Caine, who had endured so much in these last months that little could surprise him anymore.

“The baby opened his eyes,” said Mozelle. “Then he opened his little hands. I thought one or two coins would fall out, but nothing did.”

“Then what in the world was he doing when he opened his hands?” asked Hargrove.

Matthew Perch stepped forward. “He was reaching out to his mother and father,” he said. “As any newborn child would.”

“It was all filmed as we agreed,” said Mozelle. “You’ll be able to see for yourself.”

“No coins?” Hargrove asked.

“None,” said Perch.

“Nothing unusual, you say?”

“Miraculous, yes. But no, nothing unusual.”

Hargrove now seemed more curious than combative; even he could not resist the commanding, hypnotic presence of Matthew Perch. “But do you have any idea why?” he asked. “We all assumed … Everybody here, we had all been told …”

“Because there is no need for coins anymore,” Perch said, interrupting. “The first coins already did the work they were needed for.”

“What work was that?” asked Hargrove.

“They brought Whitney Carson and Franklyn Walker together, and then they brought all of you together,” said Perch. “The child is always the miracle, not any object it was or wasn’t holding. The first coins were brought here by the remnants of a dying civilization, one many light-years away from this one. The coins could have appeared in the hands of any of a number of human beings, but they appeared to Franklyn and Whitney, who, as they have grown up, have proven why they were chosen—for their honesty, their decency, their openness, their ability to believe. These are among the qualities that allow a species to survive. These coins were given to Whitney and Franklyn to show all of you the way forward. All of you have been waiting for something physical to happen, something you can see with your own eyes, but perhaps the most important thing that the coins have brought is something that’s inside of you. The knowledge contained within the coins, if it is used properly, can save this planet’s inhabitants from dying out one day too, can keep it from suffering the same fate that the travelers on the Seventh Ship journeyed all this distance to escape.”

Silence ensued. Hargrove considered what Perch said, weighing its improbability against the certainty with which it had been said. Now, when Hargrove spoke, his tone was noticeably softer. “What happened to the other coins? The ones Whitney and Franklyn were born holding? The ones my clients purchased?” he asked.

“I believe Montaro Caine can help you answer that question as well as I can,” said Perch.

Montaro looked back at Perch, at first uncertain of the man’s meaning. When Montaro had first met Tom Lund, he had asked him
about Perch. He now remembered Lund’s response. Lund had said that he didn’t know Perch, but, he added, when Montaro did meet him, he “should look him right in the eye and let him see who it is that you really are. He will not be able to see who you are without letting you see who he is.”

As he looked Matthew Perch straight in the eye, as Lund had counseled, Montaro saw a man whose kindness and self-assurance reminded him very much of his own father. And it was at this moment, when Montaro was remembering the smile on his father’s face, the gentleness of Robert Caine’s touch, the depth of the man’s brilliance and his capacity for understanding, that he felt something faintly vibrating in the pocket of his blazer and he began to understand why Perch was staring at him so expectantly. Montaro reached inside and felt the small flannel bag that contained the model Luther John Doe had carved of the Seventh Ship. He took the bag out of his pocket, and when he looked up, he saw that Luther was staring straight back at him. Caine turned to Matthew Perch, who in turn looked to Luther.

Caine walked toward the podium. “If you please,” he said. “There is someone here I’d like all of you to meet. Some of you here are familiar with him and his story. His name is Luther John Doe. Luther, would you mind joining me up here?”

Luther nodded cautiously. He stood and moved slowly toward the front of the room, accompanied by the bullish and somewhat stocky orderly who had accompanied him on the trip to Manhattan. Luther’s physical condition seemed to have deteriorated even since Caine had seen him. The severe deformity of his hip and right leg made it all but impossible for him to maintain even the slightest degree of balance without his aide’s help. When Luther had taken his place beside Caine, he rested one hand upon the podium, using it for support.

“Do you know why you’re here, Luther?” Caine asked.

Bewilderment gathered on Luther’s face and a touch of panic seemed to seize his body. “I’m here because you and Dr. Mozelle sent me an invitation. You know that,” he said.

“That’s true enough,” said Montaro with a gentle smile. “Well, then tell me this. How do you feel about being here?”

A long pause held while Luther appeared to examine his feelings.

“I guess I feel important being here, with all these important people,” he finally said.

“Surprised?” Caine asked.

Luther shook his head. “No, not surprised. I always imagined I’d wind up in a place like this.”

“You foresaw it?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, do you think anything in particular now that you’re in this place and you look around and see yourself in the midst of all these important folks?”

Luther surveyed the crowd. “Well,” he said, “I think everyone in this room must have done something in their lives that has led them to this particular place on this particular day. That’s what I think. I also think that this may be the end of the line for some of us. I know that’s true for me. I’ve lived with some pretty strange experiences, but I don’t think I can carry them around with me very much further. I’ve done my part, served my purpose.”

“What was that purpose, Luther?”

“To carve the model of the Seventh Ship out of the vision I saw, and to send it to you, Mr. Caine, by way of your father. To this day, I can’t tell you why I carved it, or how I knew to give it to your father. Or even how I knew that your father had a son. I just knew that I was supposed to do it. And I knew that a day would come when others would seek me out. I couldn’t have carved it without the help of my friend Tom Lund—he’s sitting right there. He’s the one who taught me about the sun, the solar system, galaxies, the universe, all that I could see in my mind when I pictured the Seventh Ship and how it traveled through space to get here.”

Montaro opened his hand to reveal the bag that contained the model of the Seventh Ship. He slipped out the model and held it in the palm of his hand where it continued to vibrate.

“This is what you carved for me?” Caine asked. “When I was just a boy?”

“That’s the one,” said Luther. “I gave it to your father. I made it for his son.”

“Thank you, Luther,” said Caine. He held out his hand to Luther
and the two men embraced before Luther and his caretaker headed back to sit by Tom Lund.

The vibrations from the Seventh Ship were growing more intense and Caine, like Luther, could also sense that he had been led to this moment, that whatever his purpose was in life, it had something to do with holding this wooden model that Luther had carved. He could see Perch moving toward him, one hand extended. As if he already knew what to do and what was expected of him, Caine passed the model to Perch, who then walked over to Luther. The two men stared at each other, and as they did, they seemed to share an understanding. Perch smiled. Luther smiled back and his eyelids fluttered slightly. “Soon, it will be time,” Perch said softly.

Luther nodded. His smile widened. “Yes, I know,” he said.

Perch held the model in the palm of his left hand, then walked around the tables, showing it to everyone seated in the room. Gradually, the object began to quiver. Perch placed the carving of the Seventh Ship gently on the table in front of Richard Davis.

The carving of the Seventh Ship continued its low vibration. Then Colette, whose face thus far had been a mask of conflicting emotions and allegiances, shouted “Oh!
Mon dieu! Regard ça!
” The carving slowly began to open, almost as though it were about to give birth. Colette drew back, while her father, Roland Gabler, and the others at her table leaned in for a better view. Hargrove walked over to observe as well. The carving’s vibrations continued to intensify, causing the object to float upward in a swirling motion, first in one direction, then in another. It hovered in midair for several seconds, then gently descended to a different place on the surface of the table, where it continued to open. Inside the model were the two coins, lying in spaces that appeared to have been designed specifically to receive them. Shock registered on the faces of both Fritzbrauner and Gabler. Colette’s face was pale. Hargrove, agitated, was the first to speak.