“Then what?” I asked.
She gave me a curious look.
I peered across the dust-choked land. I saw dirt, rocks, and dead vegetation. “Those people killed Lila. God’s Judges too.”
“I’ve got contacts in the Israeli Army. Maybe they can help us.”
“Yeah, right.” I shook my head. “Their hands are full with the drought, the riots. How much time are they really going to devote to this?”
She didn’t reply.
“And what about the reliquary?” I added. “Are we just supposed to forget about that?”
Beverly hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “We can try.”
My jaw hardened.
I’d never really known my father. He’d passed away when I was still a boy. But a few weeks ago, I’d learned something new about him.
Something that changed everything.
The information had reset my priorities. I’d made a renewed commitment to protect artifacts, to protect the past. Maybe the reliquary was lethal. Maybe not. Regardless, I felt an intense need to rescue it, to keep it safe for future generations.
Graham looked at me, looked deep into my eyes as if he could see all the way to my soul. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “And you can forget it. Did you even see those guys? It’s like a small army. We’re way out of our league.”
“You’ve got the drone’s navigation data, right?”
He nodded.
Long ago, my dad had upset the scales of progress vs. preservation. There was no changing the past, no undoing what he’d done. All I could do was try to balance the scales, to save enough of the past to make up for the history he’d destroyed.
“We couldn’t protect the reliquary.” Rising to my feet, I stared into the distance, straining to catch one last glimpse of the box truck. “But we can get it back.”
Chapter 31
A strange substance swirled in the gigantic twin reservoirs. But it wasn’t just any substance.
It was CN-46.
“This is it,” Simona Wolcott said as she stepped outside the private elevator car. “This is the beating heart of Eco-Trek.”
Alan Briggs walked into the underground room. He turned in a half-circle, taking in the space. “It’s enormous,” he said in a slightly cowed tone.
Simona had managed to dodge Briggs for a few days. But Briggs had grown increasingly hostile, even going so far as to threaten to call his employer. So, she’d finally acquiesced to the man’s demands.
But only for now.
“Why don’t you look around?” Simona pointed to the far side of the room. “The production facilities are back there. You can peek through the windows, but please don’t enter the actual space. My technicians work hard to limit outside contaminants.”
As Briggs wandered off, Simona fixed her gaze upon the twin reservoirs that dominated the room. Each container was made of three-inch thick bulletproof glass and boasted a diameter of fifteen feet. They rose twenty-five feet into the air. High above, sturdy pipes shot out of the reservoirs and disappeared into the concrete ceiling.
She strode toward the nearest tank. Her eyes moved up and down, examining every inch of the smoothly polished glass. Her plans had changed over the years. They’d been refined and perfected. But the storage tanks had remained largely consistent with her original design. Their presence made her swell with pride. They were things of beauty, marvels of her ingenuity.
But at the end of the day, they were still just storage tanks. It was the substance inside them that mattered most of all.
A woman coughed. “Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.” Looking around, Simona saw Briggs had wandered out of hearing range. “What’s our status?”
Dr. Mychelle Besson lowered her voice. “We completed the Miasma compound sixteen hours ago. Despite a much smaller footprint, it mimics the extracted samples perfectly. I’ve moved it into the testing phase. Early results are in-line with expectations.”
“Excellent. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. How close did we get with CN-46?”
“Not very close at all, actually. The extracted samples contain chemicals we hadn’t anticipated. Some weren’t even on our radar. The formulation is different, too. I could go on and on. Suffice it to say, the samples — and Miasma, of course — differ wildly from CN-46.”
“I guess that’s why CN-46 didn’t work.” Simona arched an eyebrow. “How much time do you need to complete testing?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“That’s all?”
“Ideally, we’d monitor the test subjects for a six month period. But it’s hardly necessary. Our equipment gives us incredible insight into the changes taking place within the subjects. From there, it’s a simple matter of modeling and extrapolation.” She shrugged. “Once testing is complete, we’ll move into production. Of course, distribution is a whole other matter.”
“Let me worry about distribution. We …” Simona trailed off as she saw Briggs staring at them. “Come here, Alan. I’d like you to meet someone.”
Adopting a look of disdain, Briggs joined them near the reservoirs. “And you are …?”
“Mychelle. Mychelle Besson.”
“Your accent … it sounds French.”
“I was born and raised in Calais.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You left France to come here?”
“I believe in Simona. I believe in her cause.”
Years earlier, Mychelle had distinguished herself as one of the world’s most renowned chemists, with special expertise in the field of nanotechnology. But a single meeting with Simona had convinced her to give up the limelight. She’d moved to Eco-Trek’s island sanctuary and taken on a dual identity. To her peers, she was a dedicated scientist and the brilliant inventor of CN-46. But to Simona, she was someone else.
Someone who would change the world.
“I see.” Briggs gave her a pitiful look. “So, what are you exactly? Some kind of PR lackey?”
“Actually, Mychelle is our most prized scientist.” Simona shot him a withering look. “She led the development of CN-46.”
Briggs turned his attention to the twin reservoirs. “Do you handle production and distribution as well?”
“Simona oversees everything. But I have a hand in both areas.” Mychelle walked to a reservoir and studied the small computer attached to the glass. “From both standpoints, we’re in excellent shape. We can produce up to eight hundred tons of CN-46 per day. That’s more than enough to fulfill our needs.”
“And the reservoirs are adequate?”
“Very much so.”
Briggs gave her a close look. “You know why I’m here, right?”
She didn’t flinch. “Simona briefed me.”
“Then this question should be easy for you. Could CN-46 be flawed in some manner?”
“Absolutely not.”
His look turned skeptical. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I personally oversaw every step of the testing phase.”
“But how can you be sure your tests were comprehensive?”
“Because I designed them, Mr. Briggs. But that’s not the only reason for my confidence. Thanks to Ms. Wolcott’s excellent systems, we’re able to keep a constant eye on CN-46, on how it performs in the real world. We study every little piece of data that comes our way.” Mychelle smiled pleasantly. “CN-46 is a miracle of modern nanotechnology. But it’s still just a compound. It can be observed. Its effects can be modeled. We control it in every conceivable aspect.”
For the next few minutes, Briggs threw increasingly complex questions at Mychelle. She batted them away with ease. Satisfied, he excused himself and continued his self-guided tour of the facility.
“Nice job,” Simona said softly. “You handled him perfectly.”