Silence fell over the room, and the candlelight played on Mironov’s face like strange dancing fairies.
“He must have discovered some pretty bad things if it caused him to leave without warning.”
Mironov glanced across the room again. “I’m a visionary,” the Russian said. “And a visionary is never understood in his time.”
“Hitler was a visionary,” Zane said. Mironov’s transhumanist leanings were starting to come out. “And I think you and your fellow countrymen are probably glad he was stopped.”
“Hitler’s goal was the creation of a master race, Monsieur Bergeron,” Mironov replied. “Surely you know history well enough to know that. He wasn’t trying to better mankind — in fact, I would say that in attempting to limit knowledge and power to one race, he was limiting man’s potential. We are expanding man’s potential, bringing great opportunity to the entire planet.”
“I told you a little earlier that I always do my homework, and part of my homework assignment was to learn a little bit about the man you killed — Ian Higgs. And when I looked into this man’s life, I discovered that he was a decent man, something that’s hard to find these days. Not perfect, but a decent and stable man. So please tell me why he would oppose something that would supposedly bring so much good to the planet. It doesn’t add up.”
“As I told you before, visionaries aren’t always appreciated in their day,” Mironov said, rubbing his chin with two fingers. “It takes a special person to see the beauty of what we’re doing.”
“Why would the beauty be so hard to see?”
“Because in order to become a butterfly, the insect must fight its way violently out of a cocoon,” Mironov explained. “Unfortunately, there are those who will only see the initial struggle, the violence that is coming, and not the greater good.”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion of what you’re talking about, although it sounds like you’re going to kill more people.” Zane did understand Mironov’s figurative point but wanted the Russian to keep talking.
“Don’t worry, the fog will lift soon, and you’ll be able to see everything clearly. But here is the best news.” The Russian took another draw on the cigar. After exhaling the smoke dramatically, he said, “You’re going to have a front-row seat for the event. Unfortunately for you, just as you begin to figure it all out, you’ll be dead.”
“You’re such a tease. How about a sneak preview?”
The Russian stared at the long-haired man sitting across from him. “A new age is descending upon mankind,” he finally said. “New technology is coming to the world. And we’re going to introduce you to the people who are going to help us develop it.”
“You do remember that there was a man who put you on that cutting edge, don’t you? Unfortunately, you killed him.”
Mironov laughed. “If you think Ian Higgs was the centerpiece of what we’re doing here at Renaissance, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought. Ian knew robotics. He was the most brilliant mind in the industry. But this isn’t about robotics. This is about a revolution. Technology is coming to us — to me actually — that will make the advances of the last hundred years look like the Stone Age.”
“If such people existed, their work would already be known.”
“You seem like a well-educated man, Monsieur Bergeron. So tell me something… Who built the Great Pyramid?”
Zane shrugged. “The Greeks said it was built by slaves. Tens of thousands of slaves.”
“Maybe it’s my English,” Mironov said, adjusting in his chair. “I wasn’t asking you who moved the giant stones to the site. And I wasn’t asking you who pulled those stones up the ramps. I’m asking you who designed the structures of ancient Egypt. Who designed each and every one of those structures we can look at and touch with our hands today?”
“The engineers of their time. I haven’t a clue, and I’m not sure it really matters.”
“You are wrong. See, you’re not a dreamer. It does matter who designed them. It matters because the designers possessed technology that was thousands of years ahead of its time. Thousands.” Mironov lifted his hands into the air in dramatic fashion. “Do you realize that the pyramids and every other ancient structure in Egypt were constructed so precisely that we had no way of duplicating them until the advent of modern laser technology? And do you realize that the technology that they had then surpassed what even exists today?”
Zane was beginning to wonder if Mironov was mentally stable. The conversation was growing more bizarre with each passing moment. “So you dug something up?”
“No, we haven’t dug anything up.”
“Humor me. Who or what are you talking about?”
“Monsieur Bergeron, I’ve already told you. I’m talking about the designers.”
Silence filled the room. Zane frowned as an obscure piece of information, something he had read long ago, pierced his thoughts. He decided to ask one final question. “Are you saying you found the ancient designers?”
Mironov, his oiled hair glistening in the candlelight, leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, “We haven’t found them, Monsieur Bergeron. We’ve come to Geneva to call them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sometimes the voices in Vincenzio Marrese’s head came in snippets and sometimes in full sentences, but rarely were they as clear as they were the moment Mironov and the captive left the room. He knew instinctively that the clarity was a testament to the importance of the information being imparted.
His eyes widened in the flickering candlelight as the Masters gave him both revelation and instruction. Marrese focused with all his willpower because he knew none of it would be repeated.
When the voices finally departed, a line of sweat ran down his forehead and soaked into his brow. The information that had been delivered was shocking: the American had been hiding something from them, and had it not been revealed, it could have brought down the entire operation.
When the voices departed, a smile broke over Marrese’s face. A crisis had been averted. Nothing could change the course of destiny.
Zane was just drifting off to sleep when the men burst into the room. Despite his groggy state, he was able to count three of them as soon as the light turned on. Two of them restrained him, while another pushed up Zane’s sleeve and examined his arm. After finding what he was looking for, the man pulled out a radio, pressed a button on the side, and spoke in Russian. The voice that answered was that of Alexander Mironov.
After listening for a few seconds, the man placed the radio back in his pocket and removed a small black pouch from his jacket. Zane watched as he unzipped it, displaying the contents. Inside were two things he hadn’t expected to see — a syringe and a scalpel.
Zane squirmed as the man lifted the syringe and pressed it against his bicep. A second later the point of the needle disappeared into his flesh.
About a minute later, just as he realized what the men were doing, everything began to fade to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Pavel Tamirov sat at the back of the Grey Goose, staring out across the dark waters of Lake Geneva. The boat had slowly moved across the lake earlier in the day, and was anchored about three miles north of Geneva.
Hit with a sudden thought, he turned and peered down the side of the boat toward the front. He could just barely make out the dark shapes of the two other guards, Anatoli and Fedor. They faced the other direction and were engaged in conversation. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity to enjoy a smoke, so he set his rifle down and reached into his coat pocket. His fingers fumbled around until they finally closed on a pack of menthol cigarettes. He pulled out the pack and tapped it against his hand until several of the slender sticks slid into view. He placed one in his mouth and lit it quickly with a cheap butane lighter.