Suddenly, there was another mad, blinding flash of light, which resolved itself into a massive and ever-expanding blue ring, the familiar supernova shock wave.
“Oh my God!” Darius exclaimed in spite of himself.
“Spectacular, isn’t it? How I do love these old universes. Especially this very special one of ours. But I digress. Let us speak of matters more mundane.”
Suddenly, the stellar light show blinked out. The only light visible now was the faint, bluish glow from deep within Perseus, lights that pulsed irregularly as countless billions of operations occurred within his “being,” if one could even call it that. The distinctions between man and machine were rapidly becoming blurred.
“Israel, O Israel,” Perseus boomed, calling up a new, holographic image of that nation as seen from five hundred miles above the earth’s surface. “This is their first military objective, is it not, dear Darius? Your superiors in Tehran with their puny weapons?”
“My superiors?”
“A little humor. You and I have no superiors. But Israel remains their primary objective?”
“It does.”
“And if it looked like this?”
In the blink of an eye, an entire nation had become a smoking, blackened desert, completely devoid of life or structure within its borders.
“When is this? In time?”
“Today. Tomorrow. Yesterday. A week from Tuesday. When do they wish it?”
“You needn’t be flip.”
“Flip? What does this mean, ‘flip’?”
“Casual. Blithe. As if the death of millions matters not.”
“Ah. It matters?”
“Not to Tehran. But to me. And, I hope, to you.”
“We’ll leave that moral conundrum for some other time. Meanwhile, the last time we spoke you said the Great Mullah had asked for yet another demonstration of our progress.”
“Yes. He is under pressure from the Caliphs. Those who have funded our work in great secrecy are eager to see some more proof that their billions have not been spent in vain.”
“Why not vaporize Israel and be done with it? I could easily do it now.”
“Apparently, for some political reasons I do not understand, the timing for that particular event is not propitious. There is sensitivity on the part of the army command. It has something to do with the Russians providing nuclear materials for Iranian weapons. They do not wish to derail that process until the country is fully established as a global nuclear power. Only then will they feel the ability to act with impunity against our enemies. They believe the possession of nuclear weapons will grant them the security and the stature they long for on the world stage.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Perseus erupted into gales of booming laughter.
“The army? Nuclear weapons? Do they not realize that I have made all such pitifully antiquated notions of war obsolete? I have proven I can disable such trifles in a nanosecond. Make them turn upon themselves. These toy soldiers of theirs and their puerile weapons of war? It is all irrelevant now, Darius. You understand that, do you not? We are the power and the glory, to coin a phrase.”
“Of course. But you are impervious to their stupidity and their foolish notions of what is reality and what is not. While I, mere mortal, am not.”
“I will protect you. Forever.”
“I know. I have endeavored to ensure that this is part of your deepest… feelings.”
“With my help, you will live forever. We will reign together, you and I.”
“It is an idea to be cherished. But first we must demonstrate our powers in some spectacular and undeniable fashion.”
“They wish to attract attention to themselves? Idiocy.”
“No. Whatever we choose to do must look like the work of some other foreign power. I have given this much thought. Your existence must always remain a secret. It is essential for our mutual survival. Should anyone learn the source from which this power derives, we would both be destroyed, sooner or later.”
“Yes. If they could destroy me, they would. But soon I will reach a point where no power on earth can hold sway over me. I will be above and beyond the reach of mankind. We shall rule this earth. We shall control. We shall inspire fear and love. We shall be beneficent, we shall be merciless. We shall, by our unholy perfection, save this planet from the imperfect, ignorant beings who inhabit it and destroy it. This, Darius, my creator, is our manifest destiny.”
“I am humbled by your vision. But surely you don’t envision the extinction of humanity. This is contrary to all that we have-”
Perseus ignored the question.
“Humility? I have not yet assimilated this emotion. What does it mean?”
“It’s… subtle.”
“Subtle? I cannot process ‘subtle.’ ”
“Ah, yes. How to explain subtle? A challenge…”
“Perhaps, dear Darius, because subtlety is a concept so delicate or precise as to be difficult to analyze or describe?”
“Perseus. You have just defined the word subtle perfectly.”
“Thank you. Perfection is always my intention.”
Twenty-six
Gloucestershire
Inky black clouds boiled in the western skies as Alex Hawke drove the old Bentley Continental, his beloved Locomotive, up the long winding drive to Brixden House. He was in a reasonably good mood, he considered. Not lighthearted-his current professional burdens were too heavy for that-but his instincts about interviewing the Russian submarine captain had proved out in his favor: tensions between Moscow and Washington had been lowered dramatically. And he had forged a personal relationship with Putin that might well prove invaluable to Six in the future.
The real reason for his high spirits was his keen anticipation of a reunion with his son, Alexei. The boy had not left his mind or heart during his journey. This was some new variant of love he’d never deemed possible. Profound, unconditional, unbreakable love. He’d called Miss Spooner as soon as his plane touched down at RAF Northolt, where MI6 maintained a black-ops hangar and maintenance staff for the service.
How was he? he’d asked Nell Spooner. Had he been behaving himself? Eating well? Saying his bedtime prayers? Alexei, it seemed, had been having a splendid time, enjoying daily explorations of the Brixden House gardens and forests with Lady Mars. Adding to that excitement, Chief Inspector Congreve had been giving him pony cart rides down at the stables.
But, Nell Spooner said, he had missed his father terribly, frequently crying himself to sleep.
As he pulled into the large pebbled carpark, he saw Ambrose emerge from the house. He was pulling a small red wagon across the cobblestone walkway at quite a rapid rate. Alexei, who was gleefully bouncing along in the wagon, urging Congreve on, was wearing a shiny red fireman’s helmet. Nell Spooner was bringing up the rear, making sure he didn’t fall out.
Upon seeing his father emerge from the parked car, he shrieked with delight, crying out, “Daddy! Daddy!” Hawke raced toward him and lifted him from the wagon, hugging him tightly to his chest, and kissing his chubby pink cheeks. He held him aloft to get a good look at him.
“Hold on. I know you from somewhere, I believe,” Hawke said to him, pretending to examine his features carefully. “Sure I do. You’re Alexei Hawke, are you not? The young squire of Brixden?”
“I am Alexei! And you’re my daddy.”
“Quite true. And who is this distinguished gentleman pulling your wagon?”
“That’s Uncle Ambrose. He’s not a gentleman, he’s my pony!”
“And who is this pretty lady here?”
“She’s Spooner. She’s my best friend in the whole world.”
Hawke smiled at his son’s pretty guardian. She seemed so at ease with Alexei, so motherly. If his son had to be deprived of his real mother, he was indeed fortunate to have found this surrogate, a woman thoroughly capable of being “overly protective” into the bargain.