“Maybe.” Mychelle frowned. “We need to keep an eye on him.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The way he talks, the way he acts. He’s like a pit bull with a scent. He knows he’s onto something, he just doesn’t know what it is yet.”
“Then I suggest you work faster. If testing goes according to plan, what’s your time frame for production of Miasma?”
“An additional four hours. Of course, that’s just an estimate.”
Simona frowned. She hated uncertainty. In her perfect world, it wouldn’t exist. All processes, natural or otherwise, would be utterly predictable. Unfortunately, the world was imperfect. Some things would have to remain uncertain. The work of Heisenberg, Gödel, and Lorenz had proven as much.
But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“Fine.” Simona smiled. “Thank you, Mychelle. Keep me posted.”
Turning on her heel, Mychelle walked away, her non-slip work shoes padding gently against the concrete floor.
A trance-like state enveloped Simona as she twisted toward the reservoirs. Twenty-eight hours to complete testing and production. Loading and pre-flight checks would take another two hours. It was a small slice of time, but it felt like an eternity.
She’d spent ten years dreaming of this moment. She’d committed six years in full dedication to it. And she’d spent the last eighteen months physically working on it. And now that it was finally happening, she could barely contain her excitement.
Fifteen minutes later, Briggs hiked to the reservoirs. “I guess I’m done here. That is, unless you’re willing to let me into the production area.”
“I’m afraid that’s non-negotiable,” Simona replied. “Do you have any other questions?”
“Is this your only facility?”
Simona stared at him. “Why do you ask?”
“I did some reading on my way here. Japanese forces occupied this island during World War II. I assume they built a number of defensive facilities. Do you use any of them?”
“We use their original airstrip. Of course, it’s been refurbished for our particular needs. But other than that, I’m not aware of any other buildings around here.”
“Okay.” Briggs nodded slowly. “Let’s go.”
She led Briggs to the private elevator car. Once inside, she inserted a key into a keyhole. She twisted the key and punched in her code.
With a soft ding, the elevator doors closed. As the car began its slow climb to the second floor, she felt a rising sense of anxiety, mixed with exhilaration.
Thirty hours.
She had to string Briggs along for another day or so. Whatever happened, she couldn’t let the man discover the existence of Miasma. Unlike Mychelle, a cretin like Briggs would never be able to appreciate it, appreciate how it could remake the world. He’d consider it evil, death incarnate. But he’d be wrong. Miasma wasn’t poison.
It was lifeblood.
Chapter 32
“I don’t see any buildings.” A gust of air struck our helicopter, causing it to shake violently. Graham waited for the tremors to die down before returning to the stack of large, colorful images. “When were these taken?”
“Eighteen months ago,” Beverly replied.
He arched an eyebrow.
“Those are the most recent ones available.” She shrugged. “According to my contacts, someone high up the food chain classified all recent satellite imagery of Pagan.”
“What for?”
“I assume it’s related to the land lease deal. After all, that’s when the U.S. government sealed off the island.”
A few days earlier, we’d returned to Jerusalem. We’d holed up in a small hotel. Immediately, Beverly had gone to work, studying soil samples from the excavation site with every tool at her disposal. Thanks to her former army contacts, she’d even managed to get some help from a well-equipped lab.
Meanwhile, Graham had studied the data he’d extracted from the drone. The aircraft had originated from Pagan, a small island situated in the Pacific Ocean. Coupled with what he’d seen via lip reading, we knew we were onto something.
Apparently, Pagan belonged to the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands. The Commonwealth, in turn, was one of four unincorporated organized territories overseen by the U.S. government.
Eighteen months earlier, the U.S. Department of the Interior had granted a four-year land lease for Pagan to a company named Eco-Trek. Much of the lease, including its exact terms, had been classified. But Graham was still able to gather a few facts.
Eco-Trek was a non-profit company, newly formed to take charge of the lease. Its mission, according to the few documents he’d been able to dig up, was listed as weather and atmospheric research.
A woman named Simona Wolcott, a well-known expert in the field of geocybernetics, was listed as its president and executive director. With a little research, I learned that geocybernetics dealt with interactions between the ecosphere and the anthroposphere. In other words, it attempted to study and control how humans interacted with the natural environment.
The land lease gave Eco-Trek the right to build a weather research station, including a hangar, on Pagan. It also allowed them to rebuild an old airstrip, which had first been constructed by the Japanese Navy in 1935. In order to preserve the integrity of the research station, the U.S. Department of the Interior had authorized a giant bubble surrounding the island in the form of no-sail and no-fly zones.
Another gust of air struck the chopper. My teeth chattered as we jolted up and down for a couple of seconds.
The helicopter jolted again, but I barely noticed it. Tilting my head backward, I stared at the ceiling. My mind churned as I tried to fit puzzle pieces together for the millionth time.
Lila had told me not to let the reliquary fall into her hands. By her, did she mean Simona? It made sense. At the very least, Simona was indirectly responsible for the deaths of Lila and God’s Judges. A big part of me wanted to find her, to make her pay for what she’d done. But recovering the reliquary outweighed my need for revenge.
I began to reconstruct events. Lila had located the reliquary and hired us to excavate it. For some reason, Simona wanted it as well. So, she’d directed one of her high-altitude weather research drones to the region, intending to suffocate us with chemtrails. A mop-up team, led by the Polynesian man, was sent to collect the reliquary and dispose of the evidence.
But God’s Judges had arrived on the scene. They’d probably figured the drone was under the control of the Israeli military. So, they’d shot it down. In the process, the chemtrails had killed them and Lila.
Afterward, we’d driven the reliquary to the wreck. The mop-up team had showed up. After we’d faked our deaths, they’d proceeded to take the reliquary and clean the scene.
Graham, situated in the far left seat, leaned forward. “I still can’t get a signal. Do you think Eco-Trek could be blocking it?”
I frowned. “If so, we’re in trouble.”
“Not necessarily,” Beverly said. “Obviously, someone is keeping a tight lid on Pagan. Maybe signal jamming is a regular thing around here.”
My take on the events felt right. But it also created more questions. How did Lila know Simona? Why did Simona want the reliquary? Was it truly dangerous? If so, how?
Get in. Get answers. Get out.
My plan was simple. First, we’d infiltrate Eco-Trek’s research station. Second, we’d determine why Simona had sought the reliquary. Third, we’d steal it back and escape the island.
Simple? Who am I kidding?
Even if the plan went off without a hitch, I still needed to make an important decision. If the reliquary were harmless, I’d take it back to Jerusalem. But if it wasn’t, well, that was a whole different matter.