Monk lowered the boy to the floor. Pyotr?
The boy stared blindly toward the ceiling, pupils dilated. Monk checked for a pulse. He found one but barely. The boy's chest rose and fell.
Overhead, small cries and screams echoed down. The other children. They were waking, rising to find a room full of dead bodies.
Gray pointed. Rosauro, Kowalski, go up and help them!
Monk glanced to the grainy image from the other end of the tunnel. He watched kids stirring, others already standing. He saw Konstantin help Kiska sit up.
They were okay.
What about the boy? Gray asked.
Monk sat on the floor and cradled his thin body. Pyotr breathed, his blood pumped, but Monk stared into his blank eyes and knew the boy was gone.
Pyotr why?
Gray joined him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Maybe it's shock. Maybe with time
Monk appreciated the offer of hope, but he knew the truth. As he had held the boy, he had felt the child let go. Monk's gaze returned to the screen full of stirring children. Monk knew. Pyotr had sacrificed his life for them, for all his brothers and sisters.
Gray settled to his haunches next to him, keeping vigil with him.
The stranger seemed like a good man, and in this quiet moment alone, Monk felt a certain comfort around the guy. Not a memory, just a sensation that he could drop his guard without fear.
So Monk felt no shame as tears rolled heavily and he rocked Pyotr one last time, now just an empty shell of a boy.
22
September 28, 4:21 P. M.
Washington, D. C.
Painter crossed through the rabble of tents and wagons covering the national
Mall. The Gypsy encampment filled the grassy fields and long meadows of the
Mall. The tents were a mix of traditional structures made of hazel rods thrust into the ground and covered in sailcloth, and more modern tents, fresh from a sporting goods store. The wagons were just as diverse, from simple structures to massive homes with smoking chimneys resting on tall painted wheels.
The Romani had come from all around the world to this great gathering. Horses were corralled in makeshift pens, children ran throughout, music rang out, great bouts of laughter echoed. And more and more were arriving each day.
The president had an official thank-you ceremony scheduled for the end of the week. Nothing like saving someone's life to get them to extend a grateful hand of hospitality. Not to mention saving the world.
Painter followed a path through the chaos as dogs barked and children scampered out of his way. Tourists also shared the crooked alleyways and narrow bazaars, buying trinkets, having their fortunes told, or merely ogling the merry mayhem.
Painter glanced up at the Washington Monument to help align himself and continued onward.
Stepping around a corner, a space opened in front of him, backed by one of the largest and most elaborately decorated wagons. Its wooden doors stood open.
Painter spotted a cozy home with a raised double bed, cabinets brightly painted and lacquered in yellows and reds. There was even a small stove with a fancifully carved mantelpiece.
On the steps leading up to the wagon, Painter found Luca sitting with Gray, deep in conversation. The commander's arm was still in a sling. A few steps away,
Shay Rosauro was playing a game of daggers with a group of Gypsy men. One of her blades whistled through the air and hit the bull's-eye, knocking off an opponent's knife. From their plaintive calls for mercy, she must be soundly besting them.
Off to the side, Painter was surprised to see Elizabeth and Kowalski. The woman must have just returned from India to attend the ceremony. She was working with both Romani historians and Indian archaeologists to unearth the flooded Greek temple site.
Painter glanced to the right and spotted the banner across the front facade of the Museum of Natural History. It displayed a Greek mountain temple with a prominent capital epsilon in the center, announcing the upcoming exhibit about the Oracle of Delphi. With all the publicity of late about the archaeological discovery, tickets were already sold out for months in advance, many bought by the Gypsies here, eager to learn more about the origin of their clans.
Luca spotted Painter's arrival and stood. The Gypsy was dressed in loose pants with a thick belt and matching black boots, along with an open vest over a long-sleeved embroidered shirt. Ah, Director Crowe! Welcome!
Painter offered a bow of his head to the clan leader. Nais Tuke, he thanked him in the Romani tongue.
Gray also stood. Like Kowalski, the commander was dressed casually in jeans and a light jacket. Over the past days, they had all found themselves coming here.
It had been a long couple of weeks of funerals and grim meetings. Painter wandered here almost every night with Lisa. They would stroll through the camp, in each other's arms, not talking, but listening to the songs and laughter as they passed families gathered around candle-lit suppers. Painter took solace in this fervent and bright reminder of the fullness of life. Painter also found the shared songs and communal camaraderie echoed back to his own childhood, to the tribal festivals on the Mashantucket reservations. It did feel like coming home if just a bit.
But today's gathering was more formal and practical.
They all crossed to a nearby plank table. A pair of massive draft horses were penned nearby.
As they sat, Gray asked, So how did the meeting go?
Luca stared at him with bright eyes.
Painter had just returned from a meeting with representatives from the State
Department, the Russian embassy, and several child welfare organizations. The status of seventy-seven children was the point of contention. There were many claims on them.
The Russians were happy to concede all authority over to us, Painter began.
They have enough to clean up as it is. The latest radiological studies from the joint nuclear task force suggest that the partial flooding of Lake Karachay into the groundwater, while locally disastrous and requiring evacuation of lands for miles downstream, will not prove globally catastrophic. The floodgates were closed in time.
Gray looked relieved. And the children?
Painter had visited the hospital this morning. An entire wing of George
Washington University Hospital had been cordoned off to handle the children flown in from Russia. The neurology team had spent the last weeks slowly and meticulously removing the implants. As the chief neurologist had originally conjectured, the extraction was a delicate but not exceptionally complicated procedure. The last child had her implant removed a couple of days ago. They were all doing well.
Testing shows some savant talent remains in the children but at a substantially weakened level, Painter said. Whatever communion was shared at the end seemed to have burned out the foundations of the neurological structure that produced their prodigious talent. But contrarily, the change also seemed to lessen their autistic presentation. The children have shown remarkable improvement. Still, whoever takes on the mantle of fostering these children will have to concede to a supervised monitoring of their health status, along with regular psychological evaluations, both in regard to their talents and to their general mental health.
Painter stared at Luca, who remained stoic, but his eyes shone with hope.
Painter finally smiled. But the unanimous consensus of the panel is that the children will be released to Gypsy families for that fostering.
Luca pounded a fist on the table. Yes!
His loud reaction earned a whinnied complaint from one of the draft horses and an equally firm stamp of a large hoof.
Painter spent another half hour going over further details, which helped sober the man but failed to dim the light in the Gypsy's eyes. Finally they all stood and began to disperse.