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He pondered Chiron’s words, spoken only a few minutes before — what now seemed like a lifetime ago — on the function of the tower in the schemes of the nameless conspirators who had sought to imprison the divine being. He had likened it to a knife in an open wound. Yet, the tower had only been in existence for a century. Did that somehow mean that prior to the emergence of the industrial age, God — if that was in fact what it was — had roamed freely above the terrestrial domain, doing whatever He — or It — pleased? It wasn’t too hard to reconcile the tragic wars of the twentieth century to that time period…

Forget it, he thought. Don’t get lost in the spiritual debate. Focus on the problem.

He realized with a start that he’d had the right idea all along. Depolarizing the tower was the solution, but how could he do it from this tesseract of time and space? How could he change the magnetic constant of a three hundred meter iron structure from the confines of a frozen moment?

“How did Thutmosis defeat the other priests who were also tapped into the Telluric energies?” Chiron had asked him in the sands of Babylon. “And how did he sustain his own connection to this power once removed from close proximity to the pyramids?”

How did Moses part the Red Sea?

Kismet’s answer had been flippant and skepticaclass="underline" “He used a stick.”

The Eiffel Tower was that stick, the modern equivalent of Moses’ magic wand. It was the ultimate Solomon Key, built for the express purpose of manipulating the energies of the planet. But having the key was not enough. If Chiron’s supposition was correct, Moses had been privy to all the secrets of Egyptian Geomancy. Nick Kismet was no sorcerer’s apprentice. The most sophisticated tool in the world was little better than a hammer in the hands of an ignorant child.

Then he recalled an earlier conversation.

That’s where faith comes in,” he had told Chiron as they contemplated sunset over Baghdad.

“Ah, yes. Faith. Jesus’ disciples asked for more faith. Do you know that what he told them? ‘If you have faith as a grain of a mustard seed, you shall say to this mountain: Remove from hence hither, and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible to you.’”

Was it that simple? Did he just have to tell the tower — his magic staff — what to do in order to make it happen?

He could not escape the qualifier: if you have faith

He did not have faith. He was a pragmatist, and his opinions and beliefs were shaped by facts — by evidence and empirical reasoning. Faith was for… faith was for people who could believe in something without proof. The simple fact was that Kismet did not have faith even as small as the grain of a mustard seed.

Jesus’ disciples asked for more faith.

He stared heavenward wondering how to phrase his request, but then it occurred to him that he already had what he needed. He had faith that an airplane would not fall from the sky because he had seen it happen. He had faith that the sun would continue to rise and set because his eyes were daily given the proof. Faith and proof are not mutually exclusive, he realized, grinning up at the maelstrom. I guess I can’t ask for better proof than that.

Okay, I believe I can do this. Now what?

He reached out again, not for the bomb, but for the tower itself, and in his mind’s eye, there was no impediment. His hands caressed the steel as if searching for the secret switch that would unlock a hidden doorway. And then he found it.

You owe me for this.

A shudder ran through the metal skeleton as every atom of its mass suddenly began to oppose the magnetic field of the planet itself. The transformation was instantaneous — faster even than the speed of light — and the tornado of force spiraling down from the sky abruptly reversed. Something like an eagle taking to flight shrugged out of the tempest and vanished, and at the same instant, the veil separating heaven from earth was drawn aside.

Kismet couldn’t resist a satisfied smile. Only one thing left to do now. He turned his attention back to the spot his eyes had never left.

0:00

* * *

A shrill, electronic bleating noise filled the night, startling Kismet out of his reverie. A denial was still on his lips, but his whisper had already been caught away by the unrelenting wind. The timer continued to issue a rapid-fire series of beeps, signaling that the end of the countdown had arrived.

And that was all.

No explosion. No nuclear cataclysm to destroy the Eiffel Tower or the rest of Paris. Just a kitchen timer, trilling away cheerily as though the world had not just about ended.

He took a step back, wondering what to do next, and caught sight of Chiron. The Frenchman’s hands were clutching the wound in his chest, a futile effort to stem the geyser of blood that carried away his life force with each prodigious spurt. But something about his eyes told Kismet that Chiron had finally found peace. He found himself compelled to kneel at the dying man’s side.

Chiron’s mouth moved, trying to form words, but there was no sound. Kismet leaned close, and the old man smiled weakly. “So much to tell you,” he whispered.

Kismet felt an inexplicable rage well up. The old scientist was as good as dead, yet he felt no pity. Chiron had come within a whisper of carrying out an unimaginable atrocity — at the very least, the death of tens of thousands in a nuclear fireball, at worst, the eradication of all life on earth. “Why?”

“I had to know, Nick. She always believed, but I could not. I had to put Him to the test.”

“Him? You did all this to see if God really exists?”

“Rather arrogant of me, don’t you think? Challenging God to show himself and save the world?” He coughed and blood streamed between his lips. “I’ve certainly paid the price, don’t you think? Do you suppose I’ll go to Hell?”

Something in the simple question broke through Kismet’s wrath. He tried to answer, but there were no words. There was nothing he could say to ease the man’s passage. He shook his head, unsure of what he meant by the gesture.

Chiron managed a chuckle. “All this to see God, and instead it seems I’ll meet His opposite number instead.”

Kismet felt his throat tighten. “Was it worth it?”

Something changed deep in the old man’s eyes, and Kismet knew his last breath was not far off. “I got my answer, Nick. He revealed himself. He used you to save His world.”

Kismet decided not to waste Chiron’s remaining seconds of life arguing the point.

“And now I am at peace, Nick. I know that she is with Him. She is in a place of sublime happiness. I know that now.” Another gurgling breath was drawn. “Oh, Nick. She must be so proud of you. There’s so much I should have told you. So much…”

Kismet reached out to take his hand, not caring if the old man misinterpreted the action as a sign of forgiveness. Maybe it was. As Pierre Chiron slipped out of the world, Kismet understood why even the condemned murderer is granted absolution. No one should die unforgiven.

He stayed there a long time with the man who had been for many years his close friend and mentor, and for a few brief hours, his greatest enemy. Later, much later, he remembered that the rest of the world was still waiting for news of its fate. He eased Chiron’s cold form to the steel deck and moved to the edge of the observation deck where he waved the “all clear” to the anxious observers stationed below.

It didn’t take long for Rebecca and her team to reach him at the summit. Her hard eyes were expressionless as she surveyed the aftermath of the struggle with Saeed. “What happened?”