Black (27 page)

For now he would play along, see how far this creature would take the story.

“So. You know about Bill and the spaceship. What else do you know?”

“I know that you think the spaceship is preposterous because you really don't remember a thing.”

Tom blinked. “Is that so?”

“The truth of it is this: You are stranded on a distant planet. Your ship,
Discovery III,
crashed three days ago. You lost your memory in the impact. You're standing on this bridge talking to me because you don't fit in with the simpletons in the colored forest, which is natural. You don't .”

Tom's ears were burning. He wondered if this creature could see that as well.

He cleared his throat. “What else?”

“It's good to hear, isn't it? The truth. Unlike the pitifully deceived people of the colored forest, I will tell you only the truth.”

“Fine. Tell me the truth then.”

“My, my, we are hungry. The truth is, if you knew what I know about that colored forest and those who live in it, you would despise them.”

The throngs of Shataiki had lost their respect for the silence. A sea of voices muttered and squealed under their collective breath. Somewhere in the darkness, Tom could just hear a dozen arguments raging in high pitch.

“We have been imprisoned in this forsaken forest,” Teeleh said. “That is the truth. For a Shataiki to touch the land across this river means instant death. It is tyranny.”

The throngs of bats screeched their outrage.

Teeleh lifted a wing.

Quiet fell over the forest like a blanket of fog.

“They make me ill,” Teeleh muttered. He looked back to make sure his legions were in order.

“What about the histories?” Tom asked. The question he'd come to ask sounded out of balance in this new realm of truth.

“The histories. Yes, of course. I suppose you're dreaming of the histories, are you?”

“They're real? How can there be histories of Earth if this isn't Earth?”

The question seemed to set the big bat back. “Clever. Very clever. How can we have histories of Earth if we aren't on Earth?”

“And how do you know I'm dreaming of the histories?”

“I know you're dreaming because I've drunk the water in the black forest. Knowledge. The histories of Earth are really the future of Earth. To you, they're history, because You've tasted some fruit from the forest behind me. You're seeing into the future.”

The revelation was stunning. Tom didn't remember eating any fruit. Perhaps before he hit his head on the rock? In its own way it made perfect sense. And there was a way to test this assertion.

“Fair enough,” Tom said. “Then you should be able to tell me what happens in this future. Tell me about the Raison Strain.”

“The Raison Strain. Of course. One of humanity's most telling periods. Before the Great Tribulation. Often called the Great Deception. I'll speak of it as history. It was a vaccine that mutated into a virus under extreme heat.”

Teeleh licked his lips delectably. “Nobody would have ever known, you know. The vaccine never would have mutated because no natural cause would ever produce a heat high enough to trigger the mutation. But some unsuspecting fool stumbled upon the information. He told the wrong party. The vaccine fell into the hands of some very . . . disturbed people. These people heated the vaccine to precisely 179.47 degrees Fahrenheit for two hours, and so was born the world's deadliest airborne virus.”

There was something very odd about what Teeleh was saying, but Tom couldn't put his finger on it. Regardless, the creature's information matched his dreams.

“Come closer,” Teeleh said.

“Closer?”

“You want to know about the virus, don't you? Just a little closer.”

Tom took a half step. Teeleh's claw flashed without warning. It barely touched his thumb, which was gripping the rail. A small shock rode up his arm, and he jerked the hand back. Blood seeped from a tiny cut in his thumb. It was smeared.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“You want to know; I'm helping you know.”

“How does cutting me help me know?”

“Please, it's nothing but a scratch. I was merely testing you. Ask me a question.”

The whole business was highly unusual. But then so was everything about Teeleh.

“Do you know the number of nucleotide base pairs for HIV?” he asked. “In the Raison Vaccine, that is.”

“Base pairs: 375,200. But you know that it wasn't the actual Raison Strain that brought such destruction,” Teeleh said. “It was the antivirus. Which conveniently also ended up in the hands of the same man who unleashed the virus. He blackmailed the world. Thus the name, the Great Deception.”

Tom's head buzzed. “The antivirus?”

“Yes. Cutting the DNA at the fifth gene and the ninety-third gene and splicing the two remaining ends together.” Teeleh suddenly grew very still. His voice softened. “Tell them that, Thomas. Tell them 179.47 degrees for two hours and tell them the fifth gene and the ninety-third gene, cut and spliced. Say that.”

“Say the numbers?”

“Don't you want to know? Say them.”

“One hundred and seventy-nine point four seven degrees for two
hours.”

“Yes, now the fifth gene.”

“Fifth gene . . .”

“Yes, and the ninety-third gene.”

“Ninety-third gene,” Tom repeated.

“Cut and spliced.”

“Cut and spliced.”

“And you'll need her back door as well.”

“The back door as well?”

“Yes. Now forget that I told you that.”

“Forget?”

“Forget.” Teeleh withdrew the same fruit he'd offered before. “Here. Have a bite of fruit. It'll help you.”

“No, I can't .”

“That's just not true. I've just proved that those rules are a prison. How thick can you be?”

Teeleh stood, unmoving, the fruit perched lightly in his fingers. He spoke in a quieter voice now. “The fruit will open whole new worlds to you, Tom, my friend. And the water will show you worlds of knowledge you have only dreamed of. Worlds your friends in the colored forest know nothing about.”

Tom looked at the fruit. Then up at the green eyes. What if there really was a spaceship behind those trees? It was as likely a scenario as anything else he'd considered.

“Assuming this is all true, where is Bill?”

“Would you like to see Bill? Maybe I can arrange that for you.”

“You said you had a way to get us home.”

“Yes. Yes, I can do that. We've found a way to fix your ship.”

“Can you show it to me?” Tom's heart pounded as he asked the question. Seeing the ship would end the debate raging in his mind, but Tom had no guarantee the Shataiki wouldn't tear him to pieces. They'd tried once already.

“Yes. Yes, and I will. But first I need one thing from you. A simple thing that you could do easily, I think.” Again the leader paused, as if tentative about actually asking what he had come to ask.

“What?”

“Bring Tanis here, to the bridge.”

Silence engulfed them. Not a single Shataiki lining the forest seemed to move. All eyes glared with anticipation at Tom. His heart pounded. Other than the gurgling of the river below, it was the only sound he now heard.

“And if I do that, then you will guarantee me safe passage to my ship? Repaired?”

“Yes.”

Tom reached a hand to the rail to steady himself.

“You just want me to bring him to the bridge, right? Not across the bridge.”

“Yes. Just to the river here.”

“And what guarantee do I have that you will lead me safely to the craft?”

“I will bring the craft here to the bridge as well. You may enter it with no Shataiki in sight, before I speak to Tanis.”

If the Shataiki could actually show him this ship, the
Discovery III,
it would be proof enough. If not, he wouldn't cross the bridge. No harm.

“Makes sense,” he said cautiously.

The living wall of black creatures lining the forest now hissed collectively like a great field of locusts. Teeleh stared at Tom, raised the fruit to his lips, and bit deeply again. He licked the juice that ran onto his fingers with a long, thin, pink tongue. All the while his unblinking eyes stared at Tom. Could he trust this creature? If what he said were true, then he had to find the spacecraft! It would be his only way home.

The leader stopped his licking. He stretched the fruit out to Tom. “Eat this fruit to seal our agreement,” Teeleh said. “It's our very best.”

He'd done this once already. According to the creature, it was why he was dreaming. Tom forced his fear back, reached out to the Shataiki, took the fruit from his claw, and stepped back.

He glanced up at the creature smiling before him. Raised the half-eaten fruit to his mouth. He was about to bite down when the scream shattered the night.

“Thomasssss!”

Tom jerked the fruit from his mouth and swung to his right. Bill? The voice sounded slurred and ragged.

Then he saw the redhead. Bill had emerged from the forest and was struggling weakly against the claws of a dozen Shataiki. His clothes had been stripped entirely, and his naked body looked shockingly white in the tangle of shrieking black Shataiki who now tore at him. Blood matted the redhead's hair and streaked his drawn face. Dozens of cuts and bruises covered the man's pale flesh. He looked like an abused corpse.

The blood drained from Tom's head. Nausea washed over him.

Teeleh swung around, his eyes blazing with an intensity that Tom had not yet seen. Tom's fingers went limp, and the fruit fell to the wooden deck with a deadening thump.

“Take your hands off him!” Teeleh screamed. He unfurled his wings and raised them above his head. “How dare you defy me!”

Tom watched, stunned. Immediately the Shataiki released Bill.

“Take him to safety. Now!”

Two bats pulled Bill by the hands. He stumbled into the trees.

Teeleh faced Tom. “As you can see, Bill is indeed real. I must keep him, you understand. It's the one assurance I have from you that you will return with Tanis. But I promise you, no more harm will come to him.”

“Thomas!” Bill's voice cried from the trees. “Help me . . .” His voice was muted.

“Very real, my friend,” Teeleh said. “He's been through a bit of turmoil lately and isn't thrilled with the way the others have treated him, but I can promise you my full protection.”

Tom couldn't tear his eyes from the gap in the trees where Bill had vanished. It was real? Bill was real. Confusion clouded his mind.

A lone cry suddenly shrieked behind Tom. He spun his head and saw the white Roush swoop in from the treetops. Michal!

“Thomas! Run! Quickly!”

Tom whirled around and tore toward the forest. He slammed into a tree and spun around, gasping for air. Teeleh stood stoically on the bridge, drilling him with those large green eyes.

“Hurry,” Michal called. “We must hurry!”

Tom turned from the scene and dived into the forest after Michal.

20

F
inding the room had been a simple matter of handing the desk clerk a hundred U.S. dollars and asking which room the blonde American girl had taken several hours earlier. She was probably the only American who'd checked in all day.

Room 517, the clerk said.

Carlos stepped into the fifth-floor hall, saw that it was clear, and walked quickly to his left. 515. 517. He stepped to the door, tested the knob. Locked. Naturally.

He stood in the vacant hall for another three minutes, ear pressed to the door. Aside from the rattling air conditioner, the room was completely silent. They could be sleeping, although he doubted it. Or gone. Unlikely.

He reached into his pocket, withdrew a pick, and very carefully turned the tumblers in the lock. There was more than enough white noise to cover his entry. The American had a gun, but he wasn't a killer. One look at his face and Carlos had seen that. And guns weren't terribly familiar to him, by the way he'd gripped the 9-millimeter in the hotel lobby.

No,
what they had here was an American who was crazed and bold and perhaps even a worthy adversary, but not a killer.

If your enemy is strong, you must crush.

If your enemy is deaf, you must shout.

If your enemy fears death, you must slaughter.

Basic terror-camp doctrine.

Carlos rolled and cracked his neck. He was dressed in a black blazer, T-shirt, slacks, patent leather shoes. The clothes of a Mediterranean businessman. But the time for facades was at an end. The jacket would only encumber his movements. He eased the silenced gun from his breast pocket and slipped it under his belt. Shrugged off the jacket. Draped it over his left arm and handled the pistol. Twisted the knob with his left hand.

Carlos took a deep breath and leaned hard into the door, enough force to snap any safety device.

A chain popped and Carlos was through, gun extended.

Force and speed. Not only in execution but in understanding and judgment. He saw what he needed to see before his first full stride.

The woman bound to the air conditioner. Gagged. Cords made from sheets.

The American lying shirtless on the bed. Asleep.

Carlos was halfway across the room before the woman could respond, and then only with a muffled squeak. Her eyes flared wide. Powerless.

The American was his only concern then. He jerked the gun to his right, ready to put a bullet in the man's shoulder if he so much as flinched.

He was moving quickly, without wasted movement. But in his mind everything felt impossibly slow. It was the way he'd flawlessly executed a hundred missions. Break a simple movement into a dozen fragments and you can then influence each fragment, make corrections, changes. It was a supreme advantage he had over all but the very best.