Exactly. Everything else is in shutdown mode.
But to what end?
Lisa shook her head. I have no idea. I'm going to run some more tests, but if she doesn't respond, I can think of only one possible solution.
What's that? Kat asked.
Though the TMS implant is not active, the spiking EEGs are centered around it.
I can't help but believe those neuro-electrodes are contributing to what's happening to her. Her electrical activity is frighteningly high in that region as if those wires in her brain are acting like lightning rods. If I can't calm her neural activity, she may burn herself out.
Kat paled at her assessment. You mentioned a solution.
Lisa sighed, not looking happy. We may need to remove her implant. That's where
Malcolm went, to make some calls to a neurosurgeon at George Washington.
Painter crossed and put an arm around Kat's shoulders. He knew how attached she had become to the child. They had lost many lives protecting her. To lose her now
We'll do everything we can, Painter promised her.
Kat nodded.
Painter's beeper buzzed on his belt. He slipped his arm free and checked the number. The Russian embassy. That was one call he had to take. Gray should be landing at Chelyabinsk in another few minutes.
As he glanced back up, Lisa waved him away with a small tired smile. I'll call you if there's any change.
He headed for the door then a sudden thought intruded, something he had set aside and not yet addressed. He frowned questioningly over to Kat.
Earlier, he said, I don't know if I heard you correctly.
Kat looked at him.
What did you mean when you said Monk was still alive?
12:20 P. M.
Southern Ural Mountains
Monk sidled along the train in the pitch dark. He ran his stumped forearm along the cabs as he moved down the tracks. He stretched and waved his other hand in front of him. Stumbling over railroad ties and larger stones in the gravel, he worked his way from the front of the train toward the back.
A moment before, as Monk had stepped out of the train, Pyotr had stopped screaming. It had cut off abruptly. The silence was even worse, creating a stillness as complete as the darkness. Monk's heart pounded.
Reaching the next ore car, he hiked up over the edge and waved his arm into the open space. Pyotr?
His voice sounded exceptionally loud, echoing down the tunnel. But he didn't know where the boy was or even if he was still on the train. The only option was to work methodically backward.
Monk hopped back down and moved toward the next car. He stretched his right arm out again, sweeping ahead of him
then something grabbed his hand.
Monk yelped in surprise. Warm leathery fingers wrapped around his. He reflexively yanked his arm back, but the fingers held firm. A soft hoot accompanied the grip.
Marta! Monk dropped and gave her a fumbling hug in the dark.
She returned it, nudging her cheek against his, and gave a soft chuff of relief.
Her entire body trembled. He felt the pounding of her heart against his chest.
She broke the embrace but kept hold of his hand. She urged him to follow with a gentle tug.
Monk gained his feet and allowed her to guide him. He knew where she was taking him. To Pyotr. Moving more swiftly, Monk reached the last cab. Unlike the open ore cars in the middle, the last cab was enclosed.
Marta hopped through an open door.
Monk climbed in after her. The old chimpanzee shuffled and herded him to a back corner. He found Pyotr on the floor, flat out on his back.
Monk's hand patted over him, defining his shape out of the darkness. Pyotr?
There was no response.
He felt the boy's chest rise and fall. Fingers checked his small face. Was he injured? Had he taken a fall? His skin was feverish to the touch. Then a tiny hand wandered like a lost bird and discovered Monk's fingers and gripped hard.
Pyotr, thank God. Monk scooped him up and sat with the boy in his lap. I've got you. You're safe.
Small arms wrapped around his neck. Monk felt the burn of the boy's skin, even through his clothes.
Pyotr spoke, at his ear. Go
Monk felt a chill pass through him. The tone sounded deeper than Pyotr's normal tentative falsetto. Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the boy's raw fear. But
Monk felt no tremble in his thin limbs. The single word had more command than plea.
Still, it was not a bad idea.
He stood and lifted the boy up. Pyotr seemed heavier, though Monk was past the edge of exhaustion into a bone-deep fatigue, near collapse. Marta helped guide him to the door. He jumped out and landed hard. With the boy in his arms, he hurried back toward the front of the train. He had brought one rifle with him, but he'd left the other in the front cab.
Reaching the car, Monk asked, Can you ?
Even before he finished the question, Pyotr clambered out of his arms and gained his own feet.
Stay here. Monk quickly climbed inside, grabbed the second rifle, and slung it over his shoulder.
He returned to Pyotr. The boy took his hand.
Monk expelled one hard breath. Which direction? The train had stopped halfway along the tunnel. They could either return to Konstantin and the other children or continue ahead. But if they had any hope of stopping this madwoman, Monk saw no advantage in going back.
Perhaps Pyotr thought the same thing. The boy set off in that direction. Toward
Chelyabinsk 88.
With two rifles strapped to his back and a boy and chimpanzee in tow, Monk marched down the pitch-black tunnel. They had come full circle and headed back home. But what sort of welcome would they face?
The doctor shook his head. I'm sorry, General-Major. I don't know what's wrong with the children. They've never demonstrated this type of catatonia before.
Savina stared across the room. A pair of nurses and two soldiers had helped spread the ten children on the floor, lined up like felled trees. They'd brought in pillows and blankets from the neighboring bedrooms. Two medical doctors had been summoned: Dr. Petrov specialized in neurology, and Dr. Rostropovich in bioengineering.
In a sheepskin-trimmed jacket, Petrov stood with his fists on his hips. The medical team had been in the process of evacuating when called over here. A large caravan of trucks and vehicles was already lined up for departure.
I'll need a full diagnostic suite to better understand what's happening, he said. And we've already dismantled
Yes. I know. We'll have to wait until we reach the facility in Moscow. Can the children be transported safely?
I believe so.
Savina stared hard at the doctor. She did not like his equivocation.
He nodded his head with more certainty. They're stable. We can move them.
Then make arrangements.
Yes, General-Major.
Savina left further details to the medical staff and headed back down to the control bunker below. While dealing with the matter here, Savina had also been in contact with her resources in the Russian intelligence and military communities. The information gridlock at Chernobyl seemed to finally be loosening. Contradictory reports and rumors swirled around events at the ceremony: everything from a full nuclear meltdown to a foiled terrorist attack by Chechen rebels. The firming consensus was that there had definitely been a radiological leak, though the extent remained unclear.
And why had Nicolas remained silent?
The worry gnawed a ragged edge to her temper and patience.
And now the strangeness with the children.
Savina needed to clamp down on the chaos and focus on the matter at hand. No matter what the circumstances were at Chernobyl, Operation Saturn would proceed.
Even if Nicolas had somehow failed, she would not. Her operation alone would unsettle the world economies, kill millions, and spread a radioactive swath halfway across the globe. It would be harder, but with the savant children still under their control, they would persevere.