Avery leaned her head out of the bedroom. “Des, I know all this. I’ve been studying these guys for years.”
“Right. Okay. What else? On the ship, whatever you do, don’t contact Rubicon or try to contact me. They’ll be monitoring—”
She walked out of the bedroom wearing only a pair of slacks and a bra. She gripped him by the shoulders. “Des. Relax.”
“Relax?”
“Okay. One of us has training for deep-cover, covert counterintelligence operations. It’s not you.” She looked up at the ceiling as if grasping for the answer. “So that leaves…”
“Yeah, well, I get that. I just need to be doing something to help.”
She reached into the bedroom and picked up a duffel bag. “You can carry my bag.”
He took it from her, his hand closing over hers. Their eyes met.
“If something happens to you … ”
She blinked. Her chest rose and fell faster, but her voice was even, almost a whisper. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
He let the bag fall to the floor and slipped his hand behind her neck, into her blond hair, and pulled her close, kissing her with force, his hand moving to her side, up her stomach and under the bra.
She walked backward, through the minefield of clothes and shoes on her bedroom floor. She was naked by the time she fell into the bed. Sweat formed on their bodies as they rolled, him on top, then her, and finally both face down, her below him, both panting like wild animals, the tension gone.
“I needed that,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” she breathed.
She got up and spent a few minutes in the bathroom, then returned and dressed quickly.
Somehow, he felt about a million times better: more relaxed, more ready to confront the uncertainty that lay ahead.
The pier was dark, lit only by the moon and the pole lights, both overpowered by the fog and the dark.
He parked, but neither opened their doors. He tried to find the words he wanted to say. She looked down at the floorboard and fiddled with the zipper on her North Face jacket.
“Let’s make a promise.”
“Des.”
“Not that kind of promise. A… plan. A date.” He smiled. “Yes, I said it. After this is over, we’re going to go away together. A trip to somewhere neither of us has ever been. No work. No global conspiracies. Just me and you, having fun. And sorting out what we are.”
She took his hand. “Sorry, but I’d kind of like to keep my options open after this. Never know who I’ll meet on the ship.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Kidding. It sounds good to me. I could use a slowdown.”
When Avery had boarded the massive freighter, Desmond drew out his phone and dialed the lead developer for Rendition. He arranged an emergency meeting at a hotel. He couldn’t risk going to the Rendition offices, or those of any Citium company. He called three other developers on the team—everyone who could re-create the technology—and invited them as well. They were the last loose end he had to tie up.
Chapter 62
To Yuri’s surprise, the escape from Spain happened without incident. There were no helicopters combing the countryside, and the guards at the Bilbao airport were bribe-able—diamonds still held their sparkle for those of loose morals, especially with governments and their currencies falling out of favor. People were looking for portable wealth, with intrinsic value anywhere they went.
The call he had waited for, the event that could save his cause, came when he was in the air off the coast of Spain.
For the first time since he had been working with her, Yuri heard relief in Melissa Whitmeyer’s voice. “Rapture is online.”
“All capabilities?”
“Affirmative. They just tested it on subjects here.”
Yuri took in the view of the ocean below. They had done it. They had control now. Nothing could stop him. It was only a matter of time.
“Should we take down tier one targets?”
“No. Not yet. Launch the mesh first. Call me when it’s done.”
Around the world, warehouses in rural areas rolled up their doors. Auto-launchers rolled out, onto the concrete and asphalt parking lots. They looked like giant rolling scaffolding machines. They were forty-five feet wide, fifty feet tall, and forty feet long, with rubber tires roughly five feet tall, capable of turning independently. Thick steel columns rose into the air at each corner.
At the site in Lexington, Virginia, a technician used a tablet to drive the giant machine. When it was in place, he pressed a green button, and on three sides of the launcher, partitions descended—thick, white panels that would block the wind. The machine was programmed to track wind movement and turn so that its open side was downwind, the three partitions protecting its fragile contents.
The technicians inserted the package, and the first balloon began growing inside the launcher. The balloon’s fabric was nearly translucent. As it took shape and reached toward the sky, it looked like a giant jellyfish about to take flight.
Twenty minutes later, the launcher released the balloon, and it floated free, toward the clouds. Hanging below it was a photovoltaic solar cell and a series of patch antennas capable of connecting to internet devices on the ground.
The balloons launched one after another every twenty minutes and drifted high into the sky, reaching the stratosphere eleven miles above sea level. They would stay in constant contact with each other and base stations around the world as they circumnavigated the globe. They could stay aloft for over three months, but their job would likely be done long before then. When the Looking Glass event was over, they would make a controlled descent to Earth and be retired, artifacts of the moment when the world changed forever.
Chapter 63
In the final memory, Desmond waited nervously in the hotel suite. One by one, the Rendition developers arrived and took a seat in the living room. There were three men and a woman, all in their twenties and thirties, two looking a little sleepy, one wired and still holding a Red Bull, and the last a little tipsy (some of the Rendition team had been taking much-needed down time since the completion).
“I’m sorry to call you all so late. I had no choice. I believe Rendition may soon be used by someone with all the wrong intentions.”
The lead developer was an Indian-American named Raghav.
“Used to do what?” he asked.
“To hurt people. To control them.”
The four developers looked confused.
“How?” Raghav asked.
Desmond stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you the details right now. Things are in motion. I need you to trust me. And I need your help. It won’t be easy. It may be dangerous. I’m sorry, but I need each of you to answer right now. In or out. Will you help me?”
Confusion turned to worry.
The female developer, Melanie Lewis, said, “What exactly are you asking us to do?”
“We need to move Rendition. And you all need to hide.”
Melanie shook her head. “Why should we hide?”
A heavyset developer named Langford sat next to her, drinking his Red Bull. He rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious: when Rendition is gone, they’ll come looking for us.”
“Hide where?” Raghav asked.
Desmond sat back down. “That’s the thing.”
They all waited.
He searched for the words, rehearsed them in his mind. “It has to be somewhere they won’t think to look. Somewhere safe. Off the grid.”
Melanie bunched her eyebrows. “Like… what? Alaska?”
“I was thinking somewhere colder.” Desmond inhaled. “Through Icarus Capital, I invest in a lot of companies. One is called Charter Antarctica. It’s a combination of a cruise ship company and theme park.”
“Antarctica?” Raghav said, shocked.
“Nice,” Langford said. “Dude, you should have just led with the Antarctica part.”
“I h
ate the cold,” Melanie muttered.
The other developer, a redhead name Kevin, looked concerned. “I don’t understand. Who’s going to come looking for us?” He paused, but no one responded. “Government? Mafia?”
“It’s no one like that,” Desmond said. “It’s someone who needs Rendition for an experiment. They’re scientists, but I’ve recently learned they can be very ruthless.”
“How long will we need to hide?” Kevin asked. “Months? Years?”
“Years?” Melanie echoed.
“What’re we going to eat?” Langford asked. “Seals? Penguins? I’m not eating fish for a year—”
“Seals aren’t fish,” Melanie said. “They’re mammals, you idiot.”
“And penguins are birds,” Kevin added. “But no way I’m eating them. Or dolphins. Whales, either.” Before Melanie could say anything he shot her a look. “And yes, I know they’re mammals.”
Desmond held up his hands. “Nobody’s eating any of that.”
“How’s it going to work, Des?” Raghav asked, clearly trying to focus the conversation.
“There’s a small outpost, for the construction workers. They’re building a hotel a few miles away. An ice hotel. Solar powered with geothermal heat.”
Langford’s eyes went wide. “Nice.”
“The construction crews can only work in the summer—that’s winter here. It’s a small staff, maybe twelve people.”
“Is the hotel close to being complete?” Raghav asked. “Can people live there yet?”
“I’m not sure. I’m only on the board and haven’t gotten an update recently. The construction workers’ habitat has plenty of room though.”
“We’ll I’m in,” Langford said. “I’ll even eat penguin.”
“Me too,” Kevin said. “Well, except for the penguin part.”
“What if we don’t go?” Melanie asked. Then, tentatively, she added, “Unless you’re saying we have to—”
“I’m not,” Desmond said quickly. “I’m hoping you will, though. If you don’t, I strongly urge you to go into hiding somewhere else. You can’t take your cell phone. No internet. No email. No calls.”
Raghav looked at Melanie. “I’m going. And I think we need to stay together.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
They made arrangements after that. None of the four developers were married, but Raghav lived with his girlfriend, and Melanie had a sister in San Francisco. Desmond agreed that they could bring whomever they wanted, as long as they could leave tonight.
The four left, packed, and met Desmond at the harbor in Santa Cruz just before sunrise.
Raghav walked up to Desmond and dropped his bag. “What do we do when we get there?”
Desmond had spent the time after the hotel extracting the Rendition server and software from the office. It sat in a crate on the dock.
“How you pass the time is up to you. One request: don’t set up a satellite connection or use a phone. Just in case.”
“Okay.” Raghav studied the boat. It was thirty years old, but recently retrofit. It was a research and survey vessel, seventy feet long, with a crew of five, births for sixteen, and enough food and water for the trip. The hold was more than large enough for the Rendition equipment. It wouldn’t win any races, or awards for luxury—but it also wouldn’t draw much attention.
Desmond had considered chartering a private flight to the small landing strip at the construction site, but that would have left a paper trail. The boat was the best play. The captain owned the vessel and rented it mostly to universities and researchers in the bay area. He had agreed to stay at the Antarctica facility until Desmond arrived—at a cost of four thousand dollars per day. Desmond had paid him two hundred thousand up front for the trip and agreed to settle up at the end. The man was eager to get underway.
“There’s one more thing,” Desmond said to Raghav. “I’m going to Berlin next. I’ll be meeting with a scientist named Manfred Jung. Jung is going to help me alter my Rapture implant.”
“Okay.”
“Afterwards, I believe Jung and his team might become a target—like you and yours. So I’m going to send them to the Charter Antarctica construction camp as well. Keep an eye out for them.”
“Sure.”
“And take care, Raghav. I’ll see you soon.”
From the dock, Desmond watched the boat slip out of view. Somewhere else in the Pacific, Avery was sailing away, waiting for him.
The last few hours had been exhausting. The ships had sailed, but Desmond’s work had just begun. He took out his mobile phone and dialed the number he had found earlier that night.
“Mr. Meyer, my name is Desmond Hughes. I want to talk to you about your article. About the Citium.”
“What about it?”
“You’re right. It’s a conspiracy. But you’ve only scratched the surface. I’m going to give you the biggest story of your life. Perhaps the biggest story in history…”
Chapter 64
The jet was old, a little worn, but it ran well and had everything Yuri needed. He sat in a plush leather chair at a table, his laptop open, a map with a tracking dot on the screen.
It hadn’t moved in hours.
Oklahoma City. Was that where Desmond had hidden it? Yuri counted that as unlikely.
His phone rang. Citium Central Ops.
Melissa Whitmeyer began her report without preamble. “Balloons are deployed.”
“Coverage?”
“Combined with the existing internet infrastructure, we’re at 72% globally. Over 90% in our primary nations.”
Yuri exhaled. His moment was at hand. “Begin.”
Whitmeyer paused. “I need you to—”
“To say it?” Yuri didn’t blame her. “This is your official order, Miss Whitmeyer. Begin the Looking Glass transfer for vulnerable populations. You are also to target and execute our tier one adversaries.”
“Confirmed.”
“And when that’s done, issue a message to their replacements: turn over Desmond Hughes, Lin Shaw, and Peyton Shaw—or you will meet the same fate.”
Chapter 65
Desmond awoke on the floor, on top of a camouflaged sleeping bag. The air smelled of stale beer and fried food. He looked around. He was in a pub, the Cross Grain Brewhouse. It had a long bar with a brick wall and TVs, all of which were off. Two dozen wood-topped tables filled the place, condiments and rolls of paper towels sitting on top. Tall glass windows looked out on the runways of Will Rogers Airport.
Lin, Peyton, Avery, and David Ward sat at one of the tables, talking quietly, concerned looks on their faces, like a family in a hospital waiting room, anticipating news about a loved one’s surgery.
Desmond sat up. Avery saw him first. She bolted out of the chair and was at his side in seconds, her hand around the back of his neck, helping him up.
“You all right?”
“Yeah. Just… still groggy and sore from the wringer Conner put me through.”
Lin, Peyton, and Ward joined them.
“What happened?” Ward asked.
“In private,” Desmond said.
Ward turned and led them through the airport, which was teeming with activity—troops and FEMA and federal and state agency personnel barreling through the corridors, the gates turned into makeshift briefing rooms. Desmond caught clips and phrases as they passed by: containment, armed and dangerous, further rationing, improvised attacks.
“What’s going on?” Desmond asked.
Ward didn’t look back. “The natives are getting restless.” A few steps later, he added, “If you can stop these people, you need to do it now, Hughes.”
Avery glanced at him, a question in her eyes. Can you?
He gave a solemn nod, and wondered if he believed it. Rendition was his life’s work. It was Yuri’s key to finishing the Looking Glass—a project Desmond had thought he wanted at one time. But he was willing to destroy it now—if it meant saving Avery, and Peyton, and so many others, even if it doomed Con
ner to the miserable life he desperately wanted to escape.
Ward led them past the Southwest Airlines ticket desk, into a room marked “YMCA Military Welcome Center.” Men and women in uniform sat at round picnic tables, eating from paper plates, drinking tea and water from Styrofoam cups. In a small room off the welcome center, Ward closed the door and sat at a conference table.
“We’re secure here.”
“I remember,” Desmond said.
“Rendition?” Lin asked quickly.
“Yes. I remember creating it, and where I hid it.”
“Out with it, Hughes,” Ward muttered.
“Antarctica.”
Ward leaned back in the folding metal chair, pushing it onto two legs, and let his head fall back. He stared at the ceiling and then closed his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Explain,” Lin said, her voice even, lacking Ward’s frustration.
“One of my portfolio companies. Charter Antarctica. We were building a hotel there when the X1 pandemic broke out. I sent Rendition there on a private boat—along with all four programmers who could re-create it. And the Rapture scientist who altered my implant.”
“So,” Avery said. “We go there, destroy Rendition, and this is all over. The Looking Glass won’t work without it.”
“Exactly,” Desmond said.
“You didn’t destroy your creation before,” Ward said. “When you could have. Why should I believe you’ll do it now?”
“Because now I’ve seen what they’re capable of. And what’s at stake.”
“You knew the stakes before—”
“This is pointless,” Lin said. “Desmond is the only one who can take us to Rendition.”
“Us?” Ward smiled. “There is no us. You and your daughter are staying here.”
“That would put you at a disadvantage.”