“Echo! Echo!” yelled a familiar voice.
“Come ahead!”
Khalid Shaheed came down at a rush, followed by Glory Price of Tiger Shark Team. Both of them were cut and bloody.
“Sit rep,” I said, sagging back.
“The good guys won,” said Glory. She appraised me. “You look like shit, Joe.”
“Thanks,” but I nodded toward Circe. Khalid cursed and pushed Circe out of the way. Circe may have had her M.D., but Khalid was a battlefield trauma specialist.
Others came down. Top and Bunny. They helped carry DeeDee to the sick bay. Cruise ships of this kind have a first-class medical suite, and Rio was close.
My legs buckled and I started to fall.
I’m not sure who caught me, but blackness welcomed me.
Chapter Eighty-eight
The Sea of Hope
December 21, 1 1:56 P.M. EST
It was the goddamn balloons. The syringe had been the clue.
Every single one of them was filled with Ebola. The Mexican worker who had inhaled some helium as a prank was found dead in his shower. He’d gone off shift sick and died alone.
The plan had been for the ship to limp into Rio following the tragic events of the mass slaughter. Once in port, the balloons would be released. They would rise into the sky, drift away on the variable winds, and eventually burst. South America would become a graveyard. The presidents of Mexico and the United States would be forced to cut a safety line across Panama. They would have to burn a no-man’s-land with fuel air bombs, napalm, and anything else that would burn.
The stock market would be unstable for years. The Kings would profit.
A workable treatment had been in development for years. Dr. Snow at Fair Isle—who had been an agent of the Kings rather than a victim—had given samples of the vaccine to Santoro, and he to Gault. All of the Kings and their Consciences had been inoculated. Just in case the firebombing didn’t work.
How did we find all this out?
Santoro.
He told Church everything. Names. Dates. Places. The identities of the Seven Kings. He told him about 9/11 and dozens of other attacks. He could not tell Church fast enough. He begged to tell him more.
Church listened.
I never learned what happened to Santoro. I doubt he is with the angels.
The Navy pulled the nets of balloons out into the deep blue and hit them with flamethrowers. We all hoped that would do the trick.
It was close to dawn the following day before I got a brief chance to speak with Church. We were alone in Circe’s suite. I’d just come from the shipboard vet’s office. Ghost was in surgery and I was told to stop bothering the doctors.
I found Church making coffee in the small kitchenette. His clothes were bloodstained and I knew that he had worked alongside the rest of the DMS agents, tending to the wounded. Khalid said that Church seemed to know as much about emergency medicine as any doctor he’d met. I was beyond being surprised.
I limped into the kitchen and fished a bottle of water out of the fridge. Church gave me a quick appraising look, nodded.
“‘Dad’?” I said.
“Don’t start,” he said quietly.
“No … no way am I letting that one go. ‘Dad’? Circe’s your daughter?”
“And if she is?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He poured himself a cup of coffee. “Circe is a formidable person who is making a name for herself. It was her wish that she do so without my help or influence.”
“Bullshit.”
He almost smiled. “No, it’s true. Mostly true.” He gave me a considering stare for a moment. “I don’t discuss my personal life with anyone. But …” He brushed some soot from his chin. “After all this, you get to ask that one question and get a straight answer. Circe’s mother and I divorced many years ago. She thought I was another kind of person, and when she found out that I was who I was she wanted out. I agreed.” He paused. “We had two daughters.”
The word “had” was big and ugly and it hung in the air between us.
“Ten months ago my wife was killed in a traffic incident. Circe believes it was an accident. I know that it was not. I have many enemies and they sometimes choose dishonorable and reprehensible ways to come at me. The previous summer my younger daughter, Emmy, was killed in combat in Afghanistan. Roadside bomb.”
“Jesus Christ, man, I—”
He shook his head. “Circe is my only living relative. My father, my brothers and sisters … everyone else has died in the service of this country, in one way or another. Only ten people know who Circe is. Hugo Vox is one of them, by the way. Now there are eleven. Don’t worry about whether you can keep the secret from Dr. Sanchez. He’s known for some time now.”
I started to say something, but he shook his head and turned back to making coffee. And just like that he was back to being Mr. Church. It told me something about him, maybe a lot, but it also threw a thousand new questions into the air. Most of them, I knew, would never be answered.
Chapter Eighty-nine
Aboard the Delta of Venus
December 22, 8:33 A.M. EST
Gault held Eris while she wept.
It had been a long night. The news reports began late in the evening, and by midnight it was all over. The grand centerpiece of the Ten Plagues Initiative had failed. Not one of the celebrities had died. Not one of the children of the rich and powerful had been killed. And there was no report about balloons or Ebola.
No word from Santoro, either, and that was the most disturbing. Santoro had always had an escape plan. Usually two or three of them in reserve.
Nothing.
“We’ll start again,” Gault soothed. “The Kings are still free. We still have our resources. The Goddess has so many victories to her name.”
Eris sniffed and shook her head. She didn’t care about the Hospital or the twenty-one dead children of the Inner Circle. She had wanted this.
Eris’s cell rang and she straightened. “That’s Santoro!” she cried, reaching for the phone. She opened it without even reading the screen display. “Rafael, what happened to—”
“Hi, Mom,” said the King of Fear.
“Hugo?”
“Yeah … saw the news. Thought I’d give you a call.”
“It failed!” she yelled.
“Yeah, ain’t that a kick in the nuts? All that planning. All those years of scheming, all the work. Hell, Mom, you spent the best years of your life on that thing.”
She hissed at him.
“Look,” Vox said. “I’m dropping off the radar for a while. Just wanted to let you know that I drained your accounts. Gault’s, too. Nice chunk of change.”
“What? You miserable bastard!”
“Hey, call a spade a spade. Born out of wedlock and all that, what do you expect?” He chuckled. “But listen … I’m not going to cut you off entirely. I left you a nest egg. Whenever you guys reach a safe port, call me on the other cell. My new number’s plugged in.”
“What other cell?” she demanded.
“I left it in the drawer under the TV. Whenever you want to start over again, use that and give me a call. I’m dumping this phone.”
“Wait!”
“Bye-bye, Mom. Hope you two crazy kids can make it work.”
“Hugo!”
The line was dead.
Eris threw the phone across the room, where it struck the wall and shattered. “Damn that ungrateful little prick!”
“What the hell was that about?” asked Gault.