The Ark: A Novel (7 page)

"I've got some things to take care of," Grant said. "Nice to meet you, Dilara." He winked at Locke as he left.

"How about that coffee you promised?" she said.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to rest first? You look dead on your feet."

Dilara straightened up and took a deep breath. "Believe me, I've been through worse plenty of times. Once, I hiked through the Sahara for two days with no water after my truck broke down. I can stay awake a little longer. But I wouldn't say no to a cheeseburger to go with that coffee."

"You got it." He pointed her in the direction of the mess hall. Dilara strode ahead of him with the purpose of someone who didn't like to waste time. Locke didn't know what was going on with this woman, but he liked her toughness.

A few stragglers from dinner lingered in the mess hall, a cafeteria-style facility with a made-to-order grill and a carpeted eating area with long laminated tables. It reminded Locke of a corporate dining hall. He poured two steaming cups of coffee and ordered burgers for both of them. They found an empty table in the far corner of the room. Dilara settled into a chair across from Locke and eyed the people around her. Satisfied that no one was listening, she turned back to Locke.

"I appreciate your friend letting us talk alone."

"I trust Grant with my life. He saved me when I got this." Locke pointed at the scar on his neck. "But I asked him to give us some space. I got the feeling you'd want some privacy."

Dilara squinted, apparently searching for a memory. "He looked familiar to me. Where have I seen him before?"

"When he was at the University of Washington, Grant was a three-time NCAA freestyle wrestling champion. After that, he went pro for three years."

The light went on in her eyes. "He's The Burn! The guy who left it all behind to join the Army after 9/11."

"The same. Doesn't bring it up much, and most people don't recognize him without the dreadlocks."

"That's amazing! I don't know anything about wrestling, but even I've heard of him. I even knew his catchphrase." She switched to a gravelly voice. "'You're going to feel The Burn!'"

Locke laughed. "Great impression, but it works even better if you grimace."

"What's he doing here? Didn't he want to go back into wrestling?"

"No, it was too much punishment on his body after years in the Army, so he's out of the scene now. But next time you see him, ask him about his signature moves. He loves talking about them."

She seemed to be stalling with the small talk, and she paused when Locke didn't go on. He let the silence grow.

"You want to know why I'm here," she finally said.

"You've certainly piqued my curiosity."

"Look, I'm not some kook."

"I don't think you are."

"I made a mistake earlier mentioning Noah's Ark so quickly. When I was drifting in that ocean, all I could do was think about why I came out here. So when I heard your name, I just blurted it out."

"So your original plan was to butter me up first and
then
ask me to help you find Noah's Ark?"

"It sounds even goofier when you say it. Look, I didn't want you to think I was some kind of crazy person."

"You seem sane enough to me."

"The problem is that I'm not even sure you can help me. All I have are a few words that a family friend, Sam Watson, told me." She said the name as if Locke might recognize it. "Do you know Sam?"

Locke shook his head. "Should I?"

"I thought you might. He said to find you."

"Why?"

"Sam said, 'Tyler Locke. Gordian Engineering. Get his help. He knows Coleman.'"

"The only Coleman I know," Locke said, bewildered, "is John Coleman at Coleman Consulting. He's another engineer. We compete for work occasionally, but I haven't talked to him in over a year."

"So you don't know what the connection between you and Coleman is?"

"Not a clue. Did your friend mention anything else?"

"A few random words. Hayden. Project. Oasis. Genesis. Dawn. Do they mean anything to you?"

Locke thought about them, but nothing was familiar. "Beyond the obvious, none of them are jogging my memory. But you're saying all of this has something to do with Noah's Ark?"

"Right."

"And me?"

"Yes."

Locke had to admit this all sounded weird to him. What could Noah's Ark possibly have to do with him?

"Why didn't this Sam Watson contact me himself?"

"He wanted to talk to me first. You see, my father was an archaeologist, too. Hasad Arvadi. Do you know him?" She looked at him expectantly.

Locke shook his head, and she sat back in disappointment.

"Turkish?" Locke said.

"Very good. I'm impressed."

"I spent some time at Incirlik Air Base." Incirlik was the United States' main base in Turkey and was a staging area for many flights into Iraq. "Your first name sounds Turkish, too. Does it mean anything?"

She blushed. "It means lover." She quickly went on. "He was one of the few Turkish Christians. He emigrated to America long ago, but he used his connections in Turkey to get access to Mt. Ararat. In the past, it was very difficult to get permission to explore the region. His life's work was to find any remaining evidence of Noah's Ark. Most of the archaeological community thought he was a nut, obsessed with unproven theories, but Sam said he found it."

Locke had to stifle a laugh. "He found Noah's Ark? The actual Noah's Ark?"

"I know. It sounds ridiculous, but that's what Sam said. He said to me, 'Your father's research started everything. You must find the Ark.'"

"If someone had found Noah's Ark, I think I might have heard that little bit of news."

"You wouldn't have if the discovery was never made public. My father's been missing for three years. Sam said someone murdered my father because of Noah's Ark. I believe him."

"Why?"

"Because of this." Dilara showed him a locket that hung around her neck. She opened it to reveal a beautiful woman with dark brown hair. Except for the lighter skin and hair, it could have been a picture of Dilara. Locke nodded in appreciation.

"That's my mother," Dilara said. "She died when I was six. My father was from Ankara, and my mother was an Italian-American from Brooklyn. He met her when he moved to New York for a teaching position at Cornell. They were an unusual pair, but they were very much in love."

That explained Dilara's exotic looks. "What's the significance of the locket?" Locke asked.

"My father never took this off. But I received it in the mail as a birthday present during the time he went missing. I think he knew he was in trouble. I think he wanted me to have it before he was killed."

Locke shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry about your father, but I still don't see what this has to do with me. Where is Sam now?"

"He's dead. They killed him right in front of me."

"They?"

"The people who are trying to kill me."

"There are people trying to kill you," Locke said dubiously, as if he were responding to a mental patient who'd just told him she was abducted by aliens.

"Yes, there are people trying to kill me," Dilara said, obviously exasperated by his tone. "That's why the helicopter crashed. That was no accident. Someone brought it down on purpose."

With the press of a button, Sebastian Garrett turned off the bank of TVs showing every news channel's coverage of the Rex Hayden plane crash. He stood and walked out onto the aft deck of his 250-foot luxury yacht,
Mako
. Fifteen miles away, the hills of Palos Verde stood out from the smog clinging to Los Angeles and Long Beach. A slight breeze ruffled his blond hair, but that was the only thing out of place on an appearance blessed with attributes that he used to charm his followers: intense green eyes, a tanned, muscular frame, and a strong jaw line that echoed his strength and determination. Garrett knew he cut the figure of a natural born leader, and these latest events forced him to assume that role yet again. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, hoping to find guidance for his next step.

"This is only a minor setback, sir." Dan Cutter had followed him outside. Always the servant, Cutter. Always wanting to please. He was a tactical genius, but he could never see the big picture.

Garrett turned and smiled at Cutter. The Army veteran was a giant of a man with a forehead that bulged like those on the Beluga whales at SeaWorld. He had the physique of an alligator wrestler and a craggy face that betrayed years on dusty battlefields. Yet, he now had the down-trodden appearance of a mutt that had disappointed his master.

"You think I'm upset?" Garrett said. "On the contrary. I'm elated."

"Elated, sir?"

"Of course. Look out there and tell me what you see."

Cutter paused as if it were a trick question. "LA, sir," he said firmly.

"Right. You see a city. But it's a city rife with crime, misery, greed, unhappiness, debauchery, wickedness. All the sin the world holds can be found in that city. And this is one of the richest cities in one of the richest countries on earth. Now take its woes and multiply them a million-fold. That microcosm of sin is magnified beyond belief. Beyond reckoning. It staggers the mind that for all the great things that we have accomplished as a species, we have done even more to debase ourselves to such a low level. Do you know what I see?"

"No, sir."

"When I look at that city, I see a blank slate. I see a new beginning for human kind. It's just one of the thousands of places we will be able to reclaim for the righteous among us once the New World is upon us. And now I know my vision will be a reality. Our demonstration was a success. Our people will believe. They will see that it can be done, that I have delivered on my promise to them."

"What about the airplane? It was supposed to crash into the ocean when it over-flew Honolulu. Now that it's lying in the desert, they'll have recovery teams combing through the wreckage."

"As you said, a minor setback."

"But the device may have survived the crash. We expected it would be lost at sea. If the device is recovered, the evidence could lead back to us."

Garret had to admit the remains of the device could be a problem. He was the chairman and chief technology officer of Garrett Pharmaceuticals, whose revolutionary methods for vaccine production had taken the market by storm, lifting its stock and Garrett's net worth into the stratosphere. Of course, taking a few shortcuts on FDA approvals and greasing the right palms made things go more smoothly. His combination of money and connections in the medical industry had made construction of the device possible, but some of the components had been highly specialized. There was a slim possibility they could lead the investigators back to Garrett Pharmaceuticals.

The carefully orchestrated planning for Garrett's New World operation was three years in the making, and Friday was a critical date. There was no way to shorten the timeline, and Garrett couldn't take the chance that they might be compromised at this critical juncture. They had to get the device back.

"Can you retrieve it?" Garrett asked.

"Yes, but it'll take some time to infiltrate the crash site. By that time, they'll have taken all of the luggage to a central facility for sorting and analysis. It will be easier and cleaner to find it there. That is, if the device wasn't destroyed."

"We can pray that it was."

"Of course."

"And the other matter?"

"We have a problem there as well."

"Oh?" Garrett hadn't heard about this. He assumed it had been settled.

When he'd been informed that Sam Watson, one of his star scientists, had discovered their plans, the first priority had been to make sure he didn't pass on his information to anyone else. Watson had been a faithful member of the church, but he hadn't been in Garrett's innermost circle, the only ones who knew the entire plan. He must have grown suspicious about the true nature of his work and broke into some key files that contained details of the operation. Security discovered the leak, but Watson fled. He didn't escape with any hard evidence, but he knew enough to be a danger. Since his work was essentially finished, Garrett had no more use for him and ordered his termination.

Before Garrett's security team could carry out the order, Watson phoned someone. What was said, they didn't know, but Garrett was sure it wasn't the police, or Watson would have been in their custody within hours. Still, he could have mentioned something critical. They couldn't take him out until they knew who he had spoken to, so they kept him under surveillance and waited until the meeting.

Watson's assassination went off as planned, but he managed to convey something to the woman, Dilara Kenner, who had escaped after she narrowly avoided being killed by the SUV. They lost her trail until a search of airline databases showed her reservation with Wolverine Helicopters in St. John's, Newfoundland. At first, her trip to an oil platform in the middle of the Atlantic was puzzling. Searching the names of the people on the rig registered with the Canadian Coast Guard, they discovered who was on board that she might be meeting with. Tyler Locke, a one-time contract employee of Garrett's who had been more trouble than his reputation had been worth.

Once Garrett knew Locke was involved, it made sense. They had to stop her before she could talk to him. Killing her outright would have raised too many questions, especially by Locke, so they'd had to make it look like an accident.

"She's not dead?" Garrett asked.

Cutter shook his head.

"What happened?"

"The explosive on the chopper wasn't powerful enough. My men on the yacht set it off, but it only damaged the engine. The passengers got out before it sank. The standby ship was gone, but according to radio broadcasts we intercepted, Tyler Locke used one of the freefall lifeboats to save them. No way they would have survived until a Coast Guard chopper made it out there."

"Tyler Locke. Still can't keep himself out of trouble. Well, now we have a much bigger problem. We have to assume she's told him what she knows. Is the yacht still in place?"