“I know it. That’s a powerful story.”
“So yeah, and Jesus starts talking about how those who’ve been forgiven much love much, right? But that those who haven’t been forgiven much-or don’t realize that they have-don’t end up expressing much love.”
Amber listened, watched the flames devour the wood Patrick had carried in from the shed.
“Here’s the part I don’t get. Jesus says that the woman was forgiven because she loved much. But given the context, it should’ve been the other way around-that she loved much because she’d been forgiven much, because that’s what he’d just explained.” She waited to see if Amber would comment. When she didn’t, Tessa continued, “So which comes first, forgiveness or love?”
Amber sat for a long time, and the silence unsettled Tessa.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said. “I mean… I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, like questioning the Bible or anything, I just-”
“No, it’s okay. Maybe I just need a glass of water.” Amber’s voice sounded wavery, uncertain. “I’ll be right back.”
She rose.
And returned to the bathroom.
The USS Louisiana
International waters, Gulf of Oman
“Louisiana full stop,” Captain Reaves said, then heard the ensign echo his command.
He felt the forward momentum of the submarine change, but after twenty-two years at sea it didn’t affect his balance at all, and he stared unflinchingly at the emergency action message that had just printed out.
Though it still needed authentication by his executive officer, the EAM was properly formatted.
He studied it silently, picked up the mic. “Lieutenant Commander,” he said, “to the con.”
The reply came back through the intercom. “Aye, sir.”
The message told Reaves to move to DEFCON 1, known in the military as “cocked pistol.” Maximum readiness.
Something big was up. And he and his crew were right in the middle of it.
86
8:49 p.m.
11 minutes until the transmission
The cool air of the tunnel whipped past my face.
It was hard to calculate the cart’s speed, but I would have guessed we were moving at twenty-five, maybe thirty miles per hour, which meant that if it was five miles to the base, we should’ve arrived by now. Unfortunately, however, I didn’t see any indication that we were nearing the end of our route. Instead, all I saw was the perpetual purple-black darkness pressing in against the forward operating light’s meager beam.
It’s possible this doesn’t end at the base. It’s possible you were wrong.
No, these tracks have to lead somewhere.
As we traveled, we passed a series of cylindrical nodes buried partway into the earth, placed uniformly about thirty meters apart, all connected by a thick bundle of wires.
The extremely low frequency electromagnetic transmitters.
I reviewed what we knew-or at least what I thought we knew: we would arrive at the top level of the station. From there, a stairwell in the east corner accessed the base’s second level and another stairwell at the far end of the crew quarters led down to the command level, where the control room would be.
Weatherford had told me there were ten or eleven Eco-Tech members, but of course, it was possible there were more.
What’s their agenda? If they’re anti-nuke, why try to fire a nuclear missile? Are Cassandra and Terry just using them as pawns?
Even if SWAT or local law enforcement had arrived at the Inn the very moment we’d left it, without another cart on that end of the tunnel, they wouldn’t be able to A light.
Faint, distant, but there was definitely something ahead of us. I motioned for Lien-hua to let up on the throttle, but she must’ve noticed it as well because we were already slowing.
“What do you think, Pat?” she called.
“Take us up there. As close as you can.”
“They might hear the motor.”
“If there’re people there, they’ve heard it already.”
We closed the distance until I could see that the light was indeed coming from the upper level of the base where all eight tunnels converged. Lien-hua brought the motorized cart to a stop about twenty-five meters from the portal.
We stepped down. A steady, audible hum was coming from the long line of electromagnetic nodes.
“They’re powered on,” Lien-hua said.
Not good.
The noise wasn’t overwhelming and I doubted it would’ve masked the sound of our railcar.
Flashlights off and guns unholstered, as quickly as we dared, Lien-hua and I approached the base’s entry bay.
87
Solstice asked Donnie, “Are we ready to send the signal?”
“Yes.”
She handed him a copy of the coded message. He stared at the indecipherable sequence of numbers and letters. “What are these?”
“Deactivation codes,” she lied. “Enter them in but wait with the signal. Eight minutes. We send it at nine o’clock.”
“Why?”
Because that’s when the Louisiana is in position, she thought.
“Our agenda doesn’t concern you,” she said.
“And if I do this, Lizzie-you’ll let her go?”
“No one will lay a hand on her.”
“Tell me. Swear it!”
“I swear it to you. No harm will come to her.”
Obviously still distressed about the death of his wife, but finally compliant, he turned to the keyboard.
She spoke into her headset radio to get an update from her team and make sure the explosives were all in place. Eclipse told her the hostages were secure. Everyone else confirmed that they were on their way to the control room, except for Cyclone, who did not respond.
“Cyclone?” Solstice repeated into her mic, but once again there was no reply. “Millicent, where are you?”
Nothing.
She turned to Typhoon. “Check on her. Sweep the crew quarters first, then go take a look in the tunnels.”
With a heavy nod, the thickly muscled ape picked up one of the AR-15s and stalked through the hall toward the stairs.
We entered the upper level of the base and I saw the concrete-encased elevator shaft to my right. It appeared to be just over a meter wide and nearly two meters across and reminded me of an extremely runout and exhausting crack I’d climbed in Yosemite a few years ago. An electrical line stretched up from a relay control module and disappeared out of sight in the shaft.
That’s how they sent the web-based message earlier that everything was fine.
I made note of it. I could use that to contact Margaret.
After we’d stopped Cassandra Lillo.
Twelve stout concrete pillars supported the ceiling of the room. Seven other tunnels spidered out in all directions. The second opening to our left contained a cart that looked like the one Lien-hua and I had just ridden here.
I pictured the topography of the terrain above us, evaluated that tunnel’s direction in relation to the one we’d emerged from, and had an idea of where it might lead. Silently, I gestured toward the stairwell, but before we could reach it I heard movement in the tunnel containing the other railcar.
Swift, cat-like, Lien-hua leapt against one of the support columns to cover me. I raised my gun and my flashlight, approached the tunnel’s entrance. “FBI! Put your hands in the air!” Sweeping the beam before me, I saw Alexei Chekov standing about twenty meters away.
A woman lay at his feet.
She wasn’t moving, and from here I couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.
88
8:54 p.m.
6 minutes until the transmission
“Hands away from your body, Alexei!”
He held up his empty hands. “We need to hurry. We only have until 9:00."
I motioned with the barrel of my gun for him to step away from the woman. “On the ground. On your knees. Do it.”
“We have six minutes.”
“Down!”
He stepped to the side, went to one knee, then the other.