Mary Jordan: Executive Director, Forestry Club
Carly Nadas: Executive Director, PlanetSavers
John Tipper: Executive Director, United Nations Environment Programme
Simona Wolcott:??
Hooper’s brain worked in overdrive. Some of the world’s most prominent people had refined their philosophies within the Separative. “It’s like a Who’s Who of bureaucrats and environmentalists.”
“I know, right? That’s why I wrote my article.”
Hooper checked his notes. “What about Simona? Where did she work?”
“She worked as an independent consultant. But she was more than that. I’m not lying when I say she was the smartest person I’ve ever known. Even then I knew she possessed the type of mind that only comes along every few centuries.”
Hooper sensed something in her voice. “It sounds like you were more than friends.”
“Just for a while.” She bit her lip. “I fell hard for her. Really, really hard. But she might as well have been on a different plane of existence. She was so full of passion, but she just couldn’t transfer it to her personal life. She truly lived for her work.”
“What can you tell me about her work?”
“Her expertise lay in geocybernetics. In other words, she studied the relationship between people and nature. She also loved to model incredibly complex systems. In fact, she spent several years trying to model humanity as a self-stabilizing cybernetic system.”
“People as nodes in a network?” Hooper shuddered. “That’s a pretty depressing view of the world.”
“And unrealistic too, as it turns out. Before we met, she’d tried to build a comprehensive model of a small community. She gathered tons of data. Then she attempted to put it together, to model connections between the pieces. Her goal was to establish predictive power. But her model just wouldn’t reflect reality. So, she gathered more data. And oddly enough, the model became even more screwed up. Eventually, she was forced to abandon the project.” Zora smiled wistfully. “Of course, she never admitted it was a failure. She just said she lacked the computing power to make it work.”
Hooper glanced at his notebook. Simona’s background was interesting, but not particularly useful. Still, the conversation had proven helpful to his cause.
He was beginning to suspect the Separative wasn’t just some defunct social club. It was a living, breathing organization. Its members had risen in the ranks and now occupied some of the world’s most powerful positions. With Patricia Samuels handling the computer end of things, it seemed possible they’d used their newfound authority to siphon massive amounts of money away from the Columbus Project.
But to what end?
Thirty-two billion dollars had vanished over the last eighteen months. What could they possibly do with that much money? It boggled Hooper’s mind just to think about it.
Hooper decided to move on to the other members. But first, he had one more question to ask. “Do you still keep in touch with Simona?” he asked. “Maybe you have an address or a phone number?”
“It wouldn’t matter if I did.”
“Why not?”
Zora’s face crumbled. “I don’t know what happened to her.”
“She disappeared?”
Zora nodded.
“When?”
“About eighteen months ago.”
Chapter 30
Disbelief welled within me as I watched a group of armed personnel direct our vehicle, reliquary and all, toward a large box truck.
What the hell?
My plan had been relatively straightforward. Fake our deaths. Hide. Watch the arriving forces from a safe distance. Wait for them to leave and for the storm to pass. Fix the flat tire. Drive the reliquary to Jerusalem. But now, I saw the fatal flaw in my plan.
Where are they taking it?
Leaning over the dune, I adjusted my goggles. After staging the explosion, we’d slipped away from the area. We’d taken cover and proceeded to watch as the newcomers swarmed the scene. We’d held our collective breath. Fortunately, our charade seemed to have fooled them.
The dirt shifted beneath my fingertips as I studied the barren land. Over the last four hours, a remarkable change had taken place. The small inferno engulfing the SUV had been extinguished. Jagged car parts and grisly chunks of flesh had been carefully gathered and stowed in plastic boxes. Meanwhile, workers had dug our vehicle out of the dirt and fixed its flat tire. Now, they were in the process of loading it into the first box truck. But the drone, well, that was the most incredible change of all.
In record time, a group of workers had dismantled the aircraft. They’d gathered the parts and stored them in the second box truck. Now, all that was left were some sections of the fuselage as well as the giant cylinder.
“I don’t get it,” Graham whispered. “Why are they taking our truck?”
“Because they’re cleaning the scene.” Beverly took a deep breath. “Also, they might’ve been after the reliquary all along.”
My fingers tightened around the dirt as I recalled the hollow look in Lila’s eyes when she’d first seen the drone. She’d been petrified of it as well as of a mysterious woman who controlled it.
My fingers tightened a bit more as I remembered her fears about the reliquary and about a woman being after it. Presumably, it was the same woman who controlled the drone.
Had Lila been right all along? Was the reliquary truly dangerous? Had the drone been sent to kill us with its strange chemtrails? Was the reliquary the real target? If so, why?
The dust storm continued to rage, albeit at a reduced level. I shifted my gaze to a short, dark-skinned man. He was clearly in charge of the workers. Despite the flying dirt, I got a good look at his face. He looked to be of Polynesian descent.
The man walked to the first box truck. Waving his hands, he directed his workers to cover the reliquary with additional padding and chains. Then one of the workers carefully backed our truck up a ramp and into the cargo area. Other workers clambered into the box truck. They spent a few minutes securing the vehicle. Then they stowed the exterior ramp.
A sense of dread filled my chest as the box truck’s rear door slid shut. The workers secured the latch and moved toward the giant cylinder.
Why didn’t I listen to her?
“Pagan,” Graham whispered.
I kept my gaze locked on the Polynesian man, memorizing his features. “What?”
“I’m reading lips,” he replied. “The workers keep saying Pagan. I think it’s their destination.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Me neither.”
The workers took the cylinder to the second box truck. They treated it gingerly and with great respect. A short while later, they gathered up the remaining fuselage pieces. The Polynesian man performed a quick check of the area. Then the workers piled into their vehicles, fired their engines to life, and drove off, heading across the desolate farmland.
Feeling numb, I followed the first box truck as it bounced along the uneven ground, taking the ancient stone box with it. Where were they taking the reliquary? Would I ever see it again?
A small part of me wanted to accept defeat. To forget the reliquary and hope for the best. To move onto other salvage jobs, other artifacts.
Guilt and doubt plagued the other part of me. I had personal reasons for wanting to recover the reliquary. In addition, I’d allowed it to fall into questionable hands. What if it truly was dangerous? What if the mysterious woman hurt people with it? What if she hurt lots of people?
Graham exhaled. “They’re gone.”
Twisting her neck, Beverly studied the terrain. “The road’s back there,” she said. “I say we hike back to the dig site. Hopefully, Lila’s pick-up truck is still there.”